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J.A. 


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46  i.  A  ' 

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I  473.  1J-. 


THOMAS    HARDY. 


WES  SEX    TALES 


Strange,  Ctmljj,  anir  Commonplace 


BY  THOMAS  HAEDY^  i< 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  ROMANTIC  ADVENTURES  ov  A  MILKMAID"  "A  LAODICEAN" 

"  FELLOW  TOWNSMEN  "   "  THE  WOODLANDERS  "  ETC. 


WITH    PORTRAIT 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN  SQUARE 

1888 


X' 


.-.-.    •       '  "  ' 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

THE  THREE  STRANGERS 1 

THE  WITHERED  ARM ...     26 

FELLOW-TOWNSMEN 59 

INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP 116 

THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER  .  .151 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS. 


AMONG  the  few  features  of  agricultural  England  which 
retain  an  appearance  but  little  modified  by  the  lapse  of 
centuries,  may  be  reckoned  the  high,  grassy,  and  furzy 
downs,  coombs,  or  ewe -leases,  as  they  are  indifferently 
called,  that  fill  a  large  area  of  certain  counties  in  the 
south  and  south-west.  If  any  mark  of  human  occupation 
is  met  with  hereon  it  usually  takes  the  form  of  the  soli 
tary  cottage  of  some  shepherd. 

Fifty  years  ago  such  a  lonely  cottage  stood  on  such  a 
down,  and  may  possibly  be  standing  there  now.  In  spite 
of  its  loneliness,  however,  the  spot,  by  actual  measure 
ment,  was  not  more  than  five  miles  from  a  county-town. 
Yet  that  affected  it  little.  Five  miles  of  irregular  upland, 
during  the  long  inimical  seasons,  with  their  sleets,  snows, 
rains,  and  mists,  afford  withdrawing  space  enough  to  iso 
late  a  Timon  or  a  Nebuchadnezzar;  much  less,  in  fair 
weather,  to  please  that  less  repellent  tribe,  the  poets,  phi 
losophers,  artists,  and  others  who  "  conceive  and  meditate 
of  pleasant  things." 

Some  old  earthen  camp  or  barrow,  some  clump  of  trees, 
at  least  some  starved  fragment  of  ancient  hedge,  is  usually 
taken  advantage  of  in  the  erection  of  these  forlorn  dwell 
ings.  But,  in  the  present  case,  such  a  kind  of  shelter  had 
been  disregarded.  Higher  Crowstairs,  as  the  house  was 
called,  stood  quite  detached  and  undefended.  The  only 
reason  for  its  precise  situation  seemed  to  be  the  crossing 
of  two  foot-paths  at  right  angles  hard  by,  which  may  have 
crossed  there  a,nd  thus  for  a  good  five  hundred  years. 


2  WESSEX  TALES. 

Hence  the  house  was  exposed  to  the  elements  on  all  sides. 
But,  though  the  wind  up  here  blew  unmistakably  when  it 
did  blow,  and  the  rain  hit  hard  whenever  it  fell,  the  vari 
ous  weathers  of  the  winter  season  were  not  quite  so  for 
midable  on  the  coomb  as  they  were  imagined  to  be  by 
dwellers  on  low  ground.  The  raw  rimes  were  not  so  per 
nicious  as  in  the  hollows,  and  the  frosts  were  scarcely  so 
severe.  When  the  shepherd  and  his  family  who  tenanted 
the  house  were  pitied  for  their  sufferings  from  the  expos 
ure,  they  said  that  upon  the  whole  they  were  less  incon 
venienced  by  "  wuzzes  and  flames  "  (hoarses  and  phlegms) 
than  when  they  had  lived  by  the  stream  of  a  snug  neigh 
boring  valley. 

The  night  of  March  28,  182-,  was  precisely  one  of  the 
nights  that  were  wont  to  call  forth  these  expressions  of 
commiseration.  The  level  rain-storm  smote  \valls,  slopes, 
and  hedges  like  the  clothyard  shafts  of  Senlac  and  Crecy. 
Such  sheep  and  out-door  animals  as  had  no  shelter  stood 
with  their  buttocks  to  the  winds ;  while  the  tails  of  little 
birds  trying  to  roost  on  some  scraggy  thorn  were  blown 
inside  out  like  umbrellas.  The  gable  end  of  the  cottage 
was  stained  with  wet,  and  the  eavesdropping  flapped 
against  the  wall.  Yet  never  was  commiseration  for  the 
shepherd  more  misplaced,  for  that  cheerful  rustic  was 
entertaining  a  large  party  in  glorification  of  the  christen 
ing  of  his  second  girl. 

The  guests  had  arrived  before  the  rain  began  to  fall, 
and  they  were  all  now  assembled  in  the  chief,  or  living, 
room  of  the  dwelling.  A  glance  into  the  apartment  at 
eight  o'clock  on  this  eventful  evening  would  have  resulted 
in  the  opinion  that  it  was  as  cosey  and  comfortable  a  nook 
as  could  be  wished  for  in  boisterous  weather.  The  calling 
of  its  inhabitant  was  proclaimed  by  a  number  of  highly 
polished  sheep-crooks  without  stems  that  were  hung  orna 
mentally  over  the  fireplace,  the  curl  of  each  shining  crook 
varying  from  the  antiquated  type  engraved  in  the  patri 
archal  pictures  of  old  family  Bibles  to  the  most  approved 
fashion  of  the  last  local  sheep-fair.  The  room  was  lighted 


THE   THKEE   STKANGEKS.  3 

by  half  a  dozen  candles,  having  wicks  only  a  trifle  smaller 
than  the  grease  which  enveloped  them,  in  candlesticks 
that  were  never  used  but  at  high-days,  holy-days,  and 
family  feasts.  The  lights  were  scattered  about  the  room, 
two  of  them  standing  on  the  chimney-piece.  This  posi 
tion  of  candles  was  in  itself  significant.  Candles  on  the 
chimney-piece  always  meant  a  party. 

On  the  hearth,  in  front  of  a  back-brand  to  give  sub 
stance,  blazed  a  fire  of  thorns,  that  crackled  "  like  the 
laughter  of  the  fool." 

Nineteen  persons  were  gathered  here.  Of  these,  five 
women,  wearing  gowns  of  various  bright  hues,  sat  in  chairs 
along  the  wall ;  girls  shy  and  not  shy  filled  the  window- 
bench  ;  four  men,  including  Charley  Jake,  the  hedge-car 
penter,  Elijah  New,  the  parish-clerk,  and  John  Pitcher,  a 
neighboring  dairy-man,  the  shepherd's  father-in-law,  lolled 
in  the  settle ;  a  young  man  and  maid,  who  were  blushing 
over  tentative  pourparlers  on  a  life-companionship,  sat 
beneath  the  corner  cupboard ;  and  an  elderly  engaged 
man  of  fifty  or  upwards  moved  restlessly  about  from  spots 
where  his  betrothed  was  not  to  the  spot  where  she  was. 
Enjoyment  was  pretty  general,  and  so  much  the  more  pre 
vailed  in  being  unhampered  by  conventional  restrictions. 
Absolute  confidence  in  one  another's  good  opinion  begat 
perfect  ease,  while  the  finishing  stroke  Of  manner,  amount 
ing  to  a  truly  princely  serenity,  was  lent  to  the  majority 
by  the  absence  of  any  expression  or  trait  denoting  that 
they  wished  to  get  on  in  the  world,  enlarge  their  minds, 
or  do  any  eclipsing  thing  whatever — which  nowadays  so 
generally  nips  the  bloom  and  bonhomie  of  all  except  the 
two  extremes  of  the  social  scale. 

Shepherd  Fennel  had  married  well,  his  wife  being  a 
dairy-man's  daughter  from  the  valley  below,  who  brought 
fifty  guineas  in  her  pocket — and  kept  them  there  till  they 
should  be  required  for  ministering  to  the  needs  of  a  com 
ing  family.  This  frugal  woman  had  been  somewhat  ex 
ercised  as  to  the  character  that  should  be  given  to  the 
gathering.  A  sit-still  party  had  its  advantages;  but  an 


4  WES  SEX  TALES. 

undisturbed  position  of  ease  in  chairs  and  settles  was  apt 
to  lead  on  the  men  to  such  an  unconscionable  deal  of  top 
ing  that  they  would  sometimes  fairly  drink  the  house  dry. 
A  dancing-party  was  the  alternative ;  but  this,  while  avoid 
ing  the  foregoing  objection  on  the  score  of  good  drink, 
had  a  counterbalancing  disadvantage  in  the  matter  of 
good  victuals,  the  ravenous  appetites  engendered  by  the 
exercise  causing  immense  havoc  in  the  buttery.  Shep 
herdess  Fennel  fell  back  upon  the  intermediate  plan  of 
mingling  short  dances  with  short  periods  of  talk  and  sing 
ing,  so  as  to  hinder  any  ungovernable  rage  in  either.  But 
this  scheme  was  entirely  confined  to  her  own  gentle  mind  ; 
the  shepherd  himself  was  in  the  mood  to  exhibit  the  most 
reckless  phases  of  hospitality. 

The  fiddler  was  a  boy  of  those  parts,  about  twelve  years 
of  age,  who  had  a  wonderful  dexterity  in  jigs  and  reels, 
though  his  fingers  were  so  small  and  short  as  to  necessi 
tate  a  constant  shifting  for  the  high  notes,  from  which  he 
scrambled  back  to  the  first  position  with  sounds  riot  of 
unmixed  purity  of  tone.  At  seven  the  shrill  tweedle-dee 
of  this  youngster  had  begun,  accompanied  by  a  booming 
ground-bass  from  Elijah  New,  the  parish-clerk,  who  had 
thoughtfully  brought  with  him  his  favorite  musical  in 
strument,  the  serpent.  Dancing  was  instantaneous,  Mrs. 
Fennel  privately  enjoining  the  players  on  no  account  to 
let  the  dance  exceed  the  length  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

But  Elijah  and  the  boy,  in  the  excitement  of  their  posi 
tion,  quite  forgot  the  injunction.  Moreover,  Oliver  Giles, 
a  man  of  seventeen,  one  of  the  dancers,  who  was  enam 
oured  of  his  partner,  a  fair  girl  of  thirty-three  rolling  years, 
had  recklessly  handed  a  new  crown-piece  to  the  musicians, 
as  a  bribe  to  keep  going  as  long  as  they  had  muscle  and 
wind.  Mrs.  Fennel,  seeing  the  steam  begin  to  generate 
on  the  countenances  of  her  guests,  crossed  over  and  touch 
ed  the  fiddler's  elbow  and  put  her  hand  on  the  serpent's 
mouth.  But  they  took  no  notice,  and  fearing  she  might 
lose  her  character  of  genial  hostess  if  she  were  to  inter 
fere  too  markedly,  she  retired  and  sat  down  helpless. 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS.  5 

And  so  the  dance  whizzed  on  with  cumulative  fury,  the 
performers  moving  in  their  planet-like  courses,  direct  and 
retrograde,  from  apogee  to  perigee,  till  the  hand  of  the 
well-kicked  clock  at  the  bottom  of  the  room  had  travelled 
over  the  circumference  of  an  hour. 

While  these  cheerful  events  were  in  course  of  enact 
ment  within  Fennel's  pastoral  dwelling,  an  incident  hav 
ing  considerable  bearing  on  the  party  had  occurred  in  the 
gloomy  night  without.  Mrs.  Fennel's  concern  about  the 
growing  fierceness  of  the  dance  corresponded  in  point  of 
time  with  the  ascent  of  a  human  figure  to  the  solitary  hill 
of  Higher  Crowstairs  from  the  direction  of  the  distant 
town.  This  personage  strode  on  through  the  rain  with 
out  a  pause,  following  the  little-worn  path  which,  farther 
on  in  its  course,  skirted  the  shepherd's  cottage. 

It  was  nearly  the  time  of  full  moon,  and  on  this  account, 
though  the  sky  was  lined  with  a  uniform  sheet  of  drip 
ping  cloud,  ordinary  objects  out-of-doors  were  readily  vis 
ible.  The  sad,  wan  light  revealed  the  lonely  pedestrian 
to  be  a  man  of  supple  frame;  his  gait  suggested  that  he 
had  somewhat  passed  the  period  of  perfect  and  instinctive 
agility,  though  not  so  far  as  to  be  otherwise  than  rapid  of 
motion  when  occasion  required.  In  point  of  fact,  he  might 
have  been  about  forty  years  of  age.  He  appeared  tall, 
but  a  recruiting  sergeant,  or  other  person  accustomed  to 
the  judging  of  men's  heights  by  the  eye,  would  have  dis 
cerned  that  this  was  chiefly  owing  to  his  gauntness,  and 
that  he  was  not  more  than  five  feet  eight  or  nine. 

Notwithstanding  the  regularity  of  his  tread  there  was 
caution  in  it,  as  in  that  of  one  who  mentally  feels  his  way ; 
and  despite  the  fact  that  it  was  not  a  black  coat  nor  a  dark 
garment  of  any  sort  that  he  wore,  there  was  something 
about  him  which  suggested  that  he  naturally  belonged  to 
the  black-coated  tribes  of  men.  His  clothes  were  of  fust 
ian,  and  his  boots  hobnailed,  yet  in  his  progress  he  showed 
not  the  mud-accustomed  bearing  of  hobnailed  and  fust 
ian  ed  peasantry. 

By  the  time  that  he  had  arrived  abreast  of  the  shep- 


0  WESSEX  TALES. 

herd's  premises  the  rain  came  down,  or  rather  came  along, 
with  yet  more  determined  violence.  The  outskirts  of  the 
little  settlement  partially  broke  the  force  of  wind  and  rain, 
and  this  induced  him  to  stand  still.  The  most  salient  of 
the  shepherd's  domestic  erections  was  an  empty  sty  at  the 
forward  corner  of  his  hedgeless  garden,  for  in  these  lati 
tudes  the  principle  of  masking  the  homelier  features  of 
your  establishment  by  a  conventional  frontage  was  un 
known.  The  traveller's  eye  was  attracted  to  this  small 
building  by  the  pallid  shine  of  the  wet  slates  that  covered 
it.  He  turned  aside,  and,  finding  it  empty,  stood  under 
the  pent-roof  for  shelter. 

While  he  stood,  the  boom  of  the  serpent  within  the  ad 
jacent  house,  and  the  lesser  strains  of  the  fiddler,  reached 
the  spot  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  surging  hiss  of  the 
Hying  rain  on  the  sod,  its  louder  beating  on  the  cabbage- 
leaves  of  the  garden,  on  the  eight  or  ten  beehives  just 
discernible  by  the  path,  and  its  dripping  from  the  eaves 
into  a  row  of  buckets  and  pans  that  had  been  placed  un 
der  the  walls  of  the  cottage.  For  at  Higher  Crowstairs, 
as  at  all  such  elevated  domiciles,  the  grand  difficulty  of 
house-keeping  was  an  insufficiency  of  water ;  and  a  casual 
rainfall  was  utilized  by  turning  out,  as  catchers,  every  uten 
sil  that  the  house  contained.  Some  queer  stories  might 
be  told  of  the  contrivances  for  economy  in  suds  and  dish 
waters  that  are  absolutely  necessitated  in  upland  habita 
tions  during  the  droughts  of  summer.  But  at  this  season 
there  were  no  such  exigencies :  a  mere  acceptance  of  what 
the  skies  bestowed  was  sufficient  for  an  abundant  store. 

At  last  the  notes  of  the  serpent  ceased,  and  the  house 
was  silent.  This  cessation  of  activity  aroused  the  solitary 
pedestrian  from  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  lapsed,  and, 
emerging  from  the  shed,  with  an  apparently  new  inten 
tion,  he  walked  up  the  path  to  the  house  door.  Arrived 
here,  his  first  act  was  to  kneel  down  on  a  large  stone  be 
side  the  row  of  vessels,  and  to  drink  a  copious  draught 
from  one  of  them.  Having  quenched  his  thirst  he  rose 
and  lifted  his  hand  to  knock,  but  paused  with  his  eye 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  7 

upon  the  panel.  Since  the  dark  surface  of  the  wood  re 
vealed  absolutely  nothing,  it  was  evident  that  he  must  be 
mentally  looking  through  the  door,  as  if  he  wished  to 
measure  thereby  all  the  possibilities  that  a  house  of  this 
sort  might  include,  and  how  they  might  bear  upon  the 
question  of  his  entry. 

In  his  indecision  he  turned  and  surveyed  the  scene 
around.  Not  a  soul  was  anywhere  visible.  The  garden 
path  stretched  downward  from  his  feet,  gleaming  like  the 
track  of  a  snail;  the  roof  of  the  little  well  (mostly  dry), 
the  well-cover,  the  top  rail  of  the  garden  gate,  were  var 
nished  with  the  same  dull  liquid  glaze;  while,  far  away 
in  the  vale,  a  faint  whiteness  of  more  than  usual  extent 
showed  that  the  rivers  were  high  in  the  meads.  Beyond 
all  this  winked  a  few  bleared  lamplights  through  the  beat 
ing  drops,  lights  that  denoted  the  situation  of  the  county- 
town  from  which  he  had  appeared  to  come.  The  absence 
of  all  notes  of  life  in  that  direction  seemed  to  clinch  his 
intentions,  and  he  knocked  at  the  door. 

Within,  a  desultory  chat  had  taken  the  place  of  move 
ment  and  musical  sound.  The  hedge-carpenter  was  sug 
gesting  a  song  to  the  company,  which  nobody  just  then 
was  inclined  to  undertake,  so  that  the  knock  afforded  a 
not  unwelcome  diversion. 

"  Walk  in,"  said  the  shepherd,  promptly. 

The  latch  clicked  upward,  and  out  of  the  night  our 
pedestrian  appeared  upon  the  door -mat.  The  shepherd 
arose,  snuffed  two  of  the  nearest  candles,  and  turned  to 
look  at  him. 

Their  light  disclosed  that  the  stranger  was  dark  in  com 
plexion  and  not  unprepossessing  as  to  feature.  His  hat, 
which  for  a  moment  he  did  not  remove,  hung  low  over 
his  eyes,  without  concealing  that  they  were  large,  open, 
and  determined,  moving  with  a  flash  rather  than  a  glance 
round  the  room.  He  seemed  pleased  with  the  survey, 
and,  baring  his  shaggy  head,  said,  in  a  rich  deep  voice, 
"  The  rain  is  so  heavy,  friends,  that  I  ask  leave  to  come 
in  and  rest  a  while." 


8  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  To  be  sure,  stranger,"  said  the  shepherd.  "  And  faith, 
you've  been  lucky  in  choosing  your  time,  for  we  are  hav 
ing  a  bit  of  a  fling  for  a  glad  cause — though,  to  be  sure, 
a  man  could  hardly  wish  that  glad  cause  to  happen  more 
than  once  a  year." 

"Nor  less,"  spoke  up  a  woman.  "  For  'tis  best  to  get 
your  family  over  and  done  with,  as  soon  as  you  can,  so  as 
to  be  all  the  earlier  out  of  the  fag  o't." 

"And  what  may  be  this  glad  cause?"  asked  the  stran 
ger. 

"  A  birth  and  christening,"  said  the  shepherd. 

The  stranger  hoped  his  host  might  not  be  made  unhap 
py  either  by  too  many  or  too  few  of  such  episodes,  and 
being  invited  by  a  gesture  to  a  pull  at  the  mug,  he  readily 
acquiesced.  His  manner,  which,  before  entering,  had  been 
so  dubious,  was  now  altogether  that  of  a  careless  and  can 
did  man. 

"Late  to  be  traipsing  athwart  this  coomb — hey?"  said 
the  engaged  man  of  fifty. 

"  Late  it  is,  master,  as  you  say.  I'll  take  a  seat  in  the 
chimney-corner,  if  you  have  nothing  to  urge  against  it, 
ma'am,  for  I  am  a  little  moist  on  the  side  that  was  next 
the  rain." 

Mrs.  Shepherd  Fennel  assented,  and  made  room  for  the 
self-invited  coiner,  who,  having  got  completely  inside  the 
chimney-corner,  stretched  out  his  legs  arid  his  arms  with 
the  expansiveness  of  a  person  quite  at  home. 

"  Yes,  I  am  rather  thin  in  the  vamp,"  he  said,  freely, 
seeing  that  the  eyes  of  the  shepherd's  wife  fell  upon  his 
boots,  "  and  I  am  not  well  fitted,  either.  I  have  had  some 
rough  times  lately,  and  have  been  forced  to  pick  up  what 
I  can  get  in  the  way  of  wearing,  but  I  must  find  a  suit 
better  fit  for  working-days  when  I  reach  home." 

"  One  of  hereabouts  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Not  quite  that — farther  up  the  country." 

"  I  thought  so.  And  so  am  I ;  and  by  your  tongue  you 
come  from  my  neighborhood." 

"But  you  would  hardly  have  heard  of  me,"  he  said, 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  9 

quickly.  "  My  time  would  be  long  before  yours,  ma'am, 
you  see." 

This  testimony  to  the  youthfulness  of  his  hostess  had 
the  effect  of  stopping  her  cross-examination. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  more  wanted  to  make  me 
happy,"  continued  the  new-comer,  "and  that  is  a  little 
baccy,  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  am  out  of." 

"  I'll  till  your  pipe,"  said  the  shepherd. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  lend  me  a  pipe  likewise." 

"  A  smoker,  and  no  pipe  about  ye  ?" 

"  I  have  dropped  it  somewhere  on  the  road." 

The  shepherd  filled  and  handed  him  a  new  clay  pipe, 
saying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Hand  me  your  baccy-box — I'll  till 
that  too,  now  I  am  about  it." 

The  man  went  through  the  movement  of  searching  his 
pockets. 

"Lost  that  too?"  said  his  entertainer,  with  some  surprise. 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  said  the  man,  with  some  confusion. 
"  Give  it  to  me  in  a  screw  of  paper."  Lighting  his  pipe 
at  the  candle  with  a  suction  that  drew  the  whole  flame 
into  the  bowl,  he  resettled  himself  in  the  corner,  and  bent 
his  looks  upon  the  faint  steam  from  his  damp  legs,  as  if 
he  wished  to  say  no  more. 

Meanwhile  the  general  body  of  guests  had  been  taking 
little  notice  of  this  visitor  by  reason  of  an  absorbing  dis 
cussion  in  which  they  were  engaged  with  the  band  about 
a  tune  for  the  next  dance.  The  matter  being  settled, 
they  were  about  to  stand  up,  when  an  interruption  came 
in  the  shape  of  another  knock  at  the  door. 

At  sound  of  the  same  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner 
took  up  the  poker  and  began  stirring  the  tire  as  if  doing 
it  thoroughly  were  the  one  aim  of  his  existence;  and  a 
second"  time  the  shepherd  said  "  Walk  in  !"  In  a  moment 
another  man  stood  upon  the  straw-woven  door-mat.  He, 
too,  was  a  stranger. 

This  individual  was  one  of  a  type  radically  different 
from  the  first.  There  was  more  of  the  commonplace  in 
his  manner,  and  a  certain  jovial  cosmopolitanism  sat  upon 


10  WESSEX  TALES. 

his  features.  He  was  several  years  older  than  the  first  ar 
rival,  his  hair  being  slightly  frosted,  his  eyebrows  bristly, 
and  his  whiskers  cut  back  from  his  cheeks.  His  face  was 
rather  full  and  flabby,  and  yet  it  was  not  altogether  a  face 
without  power.  A  few  grog-blossoms  marked  the  neigh 
borhood  of  his  nose.  He  flung  back  his  long  drab  great 
coat,  revealing  that  beneath  it  he  wore  a  suit  of  cinder- 
gray  shade  throughout ;  large,  heavy  seals  of  some  metal 
or  other  that  would  take  a  polish,  dangling  from  his  fob, 
as  his  only  personal  ornament.  Shaking  the  water-drops 
from  his  low-crowned  glazed  hat,  he  said,  "  I  must  ask  for 
a  few  minutes'  shelter,  comrades,  or  I  shall  be  wetted  to 
my  skin  before  I  get  to  Casterbridge." 

"Make  yourself  at  home,  master,"  said  the  shepherd, 
perhaps  a  trifle  less  heartily  than  on  the  first  occasion. 
Not  that  Fennel  had  the  least  tinge  of  niggardliness  in 
his  composition ;  but  the  room  was  far  from  large,  spare 
chairs  were  not  numerous,  and  damp  companions,  were 
not  altogether  desirable  at  close  quarters  for  the  women 
and  girls  in  their  bright-colored  gowns. 

However,  the  second  comer,  after  taking  off  his  great 
coat,  and  hanging  his  hat  on  a  nail  in  one  of  the  ceiling- 
beams  as  if  he  had  been  specially  invited  to  put  it  there, 
advanced  and  sat  down  at  the  table.  This  had  been 
pushed  so  closely  into  the  chimney-corner,  to  give  all 
available  room  to  the  dancers,  that  its  inner  edge  grazed 
the  elbow  of  the  man  who  had  ensconced  himself  by  the 
fire;  and  thus  the  two  strangers  were  brought  into  close 
companionship.  They  nodded  to  each  other  by  way  of 
breaking  the  ice  of  unacquaintance,  and  the  first  stranger 
handed  his  neighbor  the  family  mug — a  huge  vessel  of 
brown  ware,  having  its  upper  edge  worn  away  like  a 
threshold  by  the  rub  of  whole  generations  of  thirsty  lips 
that  had  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh,  and  bearing  the  follow 
ing  inscription  burned  upon  its  rotund  side  in  yellow 
letters : 

THERE  is  NO  FUN 
UNTiLL  1  CUM. 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  11 

The  other  man,  nothing  loath,  raised  the  mug  to  his  lips, 
and  drank  on,  and  on,  and  on — till  a  curious  blueness 
overspread  the  countenance  of  the  shepherd's  wife,  who 
had  regarded  with  no  little  surprise  the  first  stranger's 
free  offer  to  the  second  of  what  did  not  belong  to  him  to 
dispense. 

"  I  knew  it !"  said  the  toper  to  the  shepherd,  with  much 
satisfaction.  "When  I  walked  up  your  garden  before 
coming  in,  and  saw  the  hives  all  of  a  row,  I  said  to  my 
self,  '  Where  there's  bees  there's  honey,  and  where  there's 
honey  there's  mead.'  But  mead  of  such  a  truly  comfort 
able  sort  as  this  I  really  didn't  expect  to  meet  in  my  older 
days."  He  took  yet  another  pull  at  the  mug,  till  it  as 
sumed  an  ominous  elevation. 

"  Glad  you  enjoy  it !"  said  the  shepherd,  warmly. 

"  It  is  goodish  mead,"  assented  Mrs.  Fennel,  with  an 
absence  of  enthusiasm  which  seemed  to  say  that  it  was 
possible  to  buy  praise  for  one's  cellar  at  too  heavy  a  price. 
"  It  is  trouble  enough  to  make,  and  really  I  hardly  think 
we  shall  make  any  more.  For  honey  sells  well,  and  we 
ourselves  can  make  shift  with  a  drop  o'  small  mead  and 
metheglin  for  common  use  from  the  comb-washings." 

" Oh,  but  you'll  never  have  the  heart!"  reproachfully 
cried  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray,  after  taking  up  the  mug 
a  third  time  and  setting  it  down  empty.  "  I  love  mead 
when  'tis  old  like  this,  as  I  love  to  go  to  church  o'  Sun 
days,  or  to  relieve  the  needy  any  day  of  the  week." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  said  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner, 
who,  in  spite  of  the  taciturnity  induced  by  the  pipe  of 
tobacco,  could  not  or  would  not  refrain  from  this  slight 
testimony  to  his  comrade's  humor. 

Now,  the  old  mead  of  those  days,  brewed  of  the  purest 
first-year  or  maiden  honey — four  pounds  to  the  gallon, 
with  its  due  complement  of  white  of  eggs,  cinnamon,  gin 
ger,  cloves,  mace,  rosemary,  yeast,  and  processes  of  work 
ing,  bottling,  and  cellaring  —  tasted  remarkably  strong; 
but  it  did  not  taste  so  strong  as  it  actually  was.  Hence, 
presently  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray  at  the  table,  moved 


12  WESSEX  TALES. 

by  its  creeping  influence,  unbuttoned  his  waistcoat,  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  spread  his  legs,  and  made  his 
presence  felt  in  various  ways. 

"  Well,  well,  as  I  say,"  he  resumed,  "  I  am  going  to  Cas- 
terbridge,  and  to  Casterbridge  I  must  go.  I  should  have 
been  almost  there  by  this  time;  but  the  rain  drove  me 
into  your  dwelling,  and  I'm  not  sorry  for  it." 

"  You  don't  live  in  Casterbridge  ?"  said  the  shep 
herd. 

"Not  as  yet,  though  I  shortly  mean  to  move  there." 

"  Going  to  set  up  in  trade,  perhaps  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  shepherd's  wife.  "  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  the  gentleman  is  rich,  and  don't  want  to  work  at 
anything." 

The  cinder -gray  stranger  paused,  as  if  to  consider 
whether  he  would  accept  that  definition  of  himself.  He 
presently  rejected  it  by  answering,  "  Rich  is  not  quite  the 
word  for  me,  dame.  I  do  work,  and  I  must  work.  And 
even  if  I  only  get  to  Casterbridge  by  midnight  I  must 
begin  work  there  at  eight  to-morrow  morning.  Yes,  het 
or  wet,  blow  or  snow,  famine  or  sword,  my  day's  work 
to-morrow  must  be  done." 

"  Poor  man  !  Then,  in  spite  o'  seeming,  you  be  worse 
off  than  we,"  replied  the  shepherd's  wife. 

"  'Tis  the  nature  of  my  trade,  men  and  maidens.  'Tis 
the  nature  of  my  trade  more  than  my  poverty.  .  .  .  But 
really  and  truly  I  must  be  up  and  off,  or  I  sha'n't  get  a 
lodging  in  the  town."  However,  the  speaker  did  not 
move,  and  directly  added,  "  There's  time  for  one  more 
draught  of  friendship  before  I  go,  and  I'd  perform  it  at 
once  if  the  mug  were  not  dry." 

"  Here's  a  mug  o'  small,"  said  Mrs.  Fennel.  "  Small, 
we  call  it,  though  to  be  sure  'tis  only  the  first  wash  o'  the 
combs." 

"  No,"  said  the  stranger,  disdainfully.  "  I  won't  spoil 
your  first  kindness  by  partaking  o'  your  second." 

"  Certainly  not,"  broke  in  Fennel.  "  We  don't  increase 
and  multiply  every  day,  and  I'll  fill  the  mug  again."  He 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  13 

went  away  to  the  dark  place  under  the  stairs  where  the 
barrel  stood.  The  shepherdess  followed  him. 

"  Why  should  you  do  this  ?"  she  said,  reproachfully,  as 
soon  as  they  were  alone.  "  He's  emptied  it  once,  though 
it  held  enough  for  ten  people;  and  now  he's  not  contented 
wi'  the  small,  but  must  needs  call  for  more  o'  the  strong! 
And  a  stranger  unbeknown  to  any  of  us.  For  my  part,  I 
don't  like  the  look  o'  the  man  at  all." 

"  But  he's  in  the  house,  my  honey ;  and  'tis  a  wet 
night,  and  a  christening.  Daze  it,  what's  a  cup  of  mead 
more  or  less  ?  there'll  be  plenty  more  next  bee-burning." 

"Yery  well  —  this  time,  then,"  she  answered,  looking 
wistfully  at  the  barrel.  "  But  what  is  the  man's  calling, 
and  where  is  he  one  of,  that  he  should  come  in  and  join 
us  like  this  ?" 

"I  don't  know.     I'll  ask  him  again." 

The  catastrophe  of  having  the  mug  drained  dry  at  one 
pull  by  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray  was  effectually  guarded 
against  this  time  by  Mrs.  Fennel.  She  poured  out  his 
allowance  in  a  small  cup,  keeping  the  large  one  at  a  dis 
creet  distance  from  him.  When  he  had  tossed  off  his 
portion  the  shepherd  renewed  his  inquiry  about  the  stran 
ger's  occupation. 

The  latter  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  the  man  in 
the  chimney-corner,  with  sudden  demonstrativeness,  said, 
"  Anybody  may  know  my  trade — I'm  a  wheelwright." 

"  A  very  good  trade  for  these  parts,"  said  the  shep 
herd. 

"And  anybody  may  know  mine — if  they've  the  sense 
to  find  it  out,"  said  the  stranger  in  cinder-gray. 

"  You  may  generally  tell  what  a  man  is  by  his  claws," 
observed  the  hedge-carpenter,  looking  at  his  own  hands. 
"My  fingers  be  as  full  of  thorns  as  an  old  pincushion  is 
of  pins." 

The  hands  of  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner  instinc 
tively  sought  the  shade,  and  he  gazed  into  the  fire  as  he 
resumed  his  pipe.  The  man  at  the  table  took  up  the 
hedge-carpenter's  remark,  and  added,  smartly,  "  True ;  but 


WESSEX  TALES. 

the  oddity  of  my  trade  is  that,  instead  of  setting  a  mark 
upon  me  it  sets  a  mark  upon  my  customers." 

No  observation  being  offered  by  anybody  in  elucidation 
of  this  enigma,  the  shepherd's  wife  once  more  called  for  a 
song.  The  same  obstacles  presented  themselves  as  at  the 
former  time — one  had  no  voice,  another  had  forgotten  the 
first  verse.  The  stranger  at  the  table,  whose  soul  had  now 
risen  to  a  good  working  temperature,  relieved  the  difficul 
ty  by  exclaiming  that,  to  start  the  company,  he  would  sing 
himself.  Thrusting  one  thumb  into  the  arm-hole  of  his 
waistcoat,  he  waved  the  other  hand  in  the  air,  and,  with 
an  extemporizing  gaze  at  the  shining  sheep-crooks  above 
the  mantle-piece,  began : 

"  Oh,  my  trade  it  is  the  rarest  one, 

Simple  shepherds  all — > 
My  trade  is  a  sight  to  see ; 

For  my  customers  I  tie,  and  take  them  up  on  high, 
And  waft  'em  to  a  far  countree!" 

The  room  was  silent  when  he  had  finished  the  verse — 
with  one  exception,  that  of  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner, 
•who,  at  the  singer's  word,  "  Chorus  !"  joined  him  in  a  deep 
bass  voice  of  musical  relish — 

"  And  waft  'em  to  a  far  countree!" 

Oliver  Giles,  John  Pitcher  the  dairy-man,  the  parish-clerk, 
the  engaged  man  of  fifty,  the  row  of  young  women  against 
the  wall,  seemed  lost  in  thought  not  of  the  gayest  kind. 
The  shepherd  looked  meditatively  on  the  ground,  the 
shepherdess  gazed  keenly  at  the  singer,  and  with  some 
suspicion ;  she  was  doubting  whether  this  stranger  were 
merely  singing  an  old  song  from  recollection,  or  was  com 
posing  one  there  and  then  for  the  occasion.  All  were  as 
perplexed  at  the  obscure  revelation  as  the  guests  at  Bel- 
shazzar's  Feast,  except  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner, 
who  quietly  said,  "  Second  verse,  stranger,"  and  smoked 
on. 

The  singer  thoroughly  moistened  himself  from  his  lips 
inward,  and  went  on  with  the  next  stanza  as  requested  : 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  15 

"  My  tools  are  but  common  ones, 

Simple  shepherds  all — 
My  tools  are  no  sight  to  see ; 

A  little  hempen  string,  and  a  post  whereon  to  swing, 
Are  implements  enough  for  me !" 

Shepherd  Fennel  glanced  round.  There  was  no  longer 
any  doubt  that  the  stranger  was  answering  his  question 
rhythmically.  The  guests  one  and  all  started  back  with 
suppressed  exclamations.  The  young  woman  engaged  to 
the  man  of  fifty  fainted  half-way,  and  would  have  pro 
ceeded,  but  finding  him  wanting  in  alacrity  for  catching 
her,  she  sat  down  trembling. 

"  Oh,  he's  the !"  whispered  the  people  in  the  back 
ground,  mentioning  the  name  of  an  ominous  public  offi 
cer.  "  He's  come  to  do  it.  'Tis  to  be  at  Casterbridge  jail 
to-morrow — the  man  for  sheep-stealing — the  poor  clock- 
maker  we  heard  of,  who  used  to  live  away  at  Shottsford 
and  had  no  work  to  do — Timothy  Sommers,  whose  family 
were  a-starving,  and  so  he  went  out  of  Shottsford  by  the 
high-road,  and  took  a  sheep  in  open  daylight,  defying  the 
farmer  and  the  farmer's  wife  and  the  farmer's  lad,  and 
every  man  jack  among  'em.  He"  (and  they  nodded  tow 
ards  the  stranger  of  the  deadly  trade)  "is  come  from  up 
the  country  to  do  it  because  there's  not  enough  to  do  in 
his  own  county-town,  and  he's  got  the  place  here  now  our 
own  county-man's  dead  ;  he's  going  to  live  in  the  same 
cottage  under  the  prison  wall." 

The  stranger  in  cinder-gray  took  no  notice  of  this  whis 
pered  string  of  observations,  but  again  wetted  his  lips. 
Seeing  that  his  friend  in  the  chimney-corner  was  the  only 
one  who  reciprocated  his  joviality  in  any  way,  he  held  out 
his  cup  towards  that  appreciative  comrade,  who  also  held 
out  his  own.  They  clinked  together,  the  eyes  of  the  rest 
of  the  room  hanging  upon  the  singer's  actions.  He  parted 
his  lips  for  the  third  verse,  but  at  that  moment  another 
knock  was  audible  upon  the  door.  This  time  the  knock 
was  faint  and  hesitating. 

The  company  seemed  scared ;  the  shepherd  looked  with 


16  WESSEX  TALES. 

consternation  towards  the  entrance,  and  it  was  with  some 
effort  that  he  resisted  his  alarmed  wife's  deprecatory  glance, 
and  uttered  for  the  third  time  the  welcoming  words,  "  Walk 
in!" 

The  door  was  gently  opened,  and  another  man  stood 
upon  the  mat.  He,  like  those  who  had  preceded  him, 
was  a  stranger.  This  time  it  was  a  short,  small  person 
age,  of  fair  complexion,  and  dressed  in  a  decent  suit  of 
dark  clothes. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  -  -  ?"  he  began  ;  when, 
gazing  round  the  room  to  observe  the  nature  of  the  com 
pany  among  whom  he  had  fallen,  his  eyes  lighted  on  the 
stranger  in  cinder-gray.  It  was  just  at  the  instant  when 
the  latter,  who  had  thrown  his  mind  into  his  song  with 
such  a  will  that  he  scarcely  heeded  the  interruption,  si 
lenced  all  whispers  and  inquiries  by  bursting  into  his  third 
verse : 

"To-morrow  is  my  working  day, 

Simple  shepherds  all — 
To-morrow  is  a  working  day  for  me: 

For  the  farmer's  sheep  is  slain,  and  the  lad  who  did  it  ta'en, 
And  on  his  soul  may  God  ha'  merc-y!" 

The  stranger  in  the  chimney-corner,  waving  cups  with 
the  singer  so  heartily  that  his  mead  splashed  over  on  the 
hearth,  repeated  in  his  bass  voice  as  before : 

"And  on  his  soul  may  God  ha'  merc-y!" 

All  this  time  the  third  stranger  had  been  standing  in  the 
door-way.  Finding  now  that  he  did  not  come  forward 
or  go  on  speaking,  the  guests  particularly  regarded  him. 
They  noticed,  to  their  surprise,  that  he  stood  before  them 
the  picture  of  abject  terror — his  knees  trembling,  his  hand 
shaking  so  violently  that  the  door-latch  by  which  he  sup 
ported  himself  rattled  audibly ;  his  white  lips  were  parted, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  merry  officer  of  justice  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  A  moment  more  and  he  had  turned, 
closed  the  door,  and  fled. 

"  What  a  man  can  it  be  ?"  said  the  shepherd. 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS.  17 

The  rest,  between  the  awfulness  of  their  late  discovery 
and  the  odd  conduct  of  this  third  visitor,  looked  as  if  they 
knew  not  what  to  think,  and  said  nothing.  Instinctively 
they  withdrew  farther  and  farther  from  the  grim  gentle 
man  in  their  midst,  whom  some  of  them  seemed  to  take 
for  the  Prince  of  Darkness  himself,  till  they  formed  a  re 
mote  circle,  an  empty  space  of  floor  being  left  between 
them  and  him — 

"...  circulus,  cujus  centrum  diabolus." 

The  room  was  so  silent — though  there  were  more  than 
twenty  people  in  it — that  nothing  could  be  heard  but  the 
patter  of  the  rain  against  the  window -shutters,  accompa 
nied  by  the  occasional  hiss  of  a  stray  drop  that  fell  down 
the  chimney  into  the  tire,  and  the  steady  puffing  of  the 
man  in  the  corner,  who  had  now  resumed  his  pipe  of  long 
clay. 

The  stillness  was  unexpectedly  broken.  The  distant 
sound  of  a  gun  reverberated  through  the  air — apparently 
from  the  direction  of  the  county-town. 

"  Be  jiggered !"  cried  the  stranger  who  had  sung  the 
song,  jumping  up. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?"  asked  several. 

"  A  prisoner  escaped  from  the  jail  —  that's  what  it 
means." 

All  listened.  The  sound  was  repeated,  and  none  of 
them  spoke  but  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner,  who 
said,  quietly,  "I've  often  been  told  that  in  this  county 
they  tire  a  gun  at  such  times ;  but  I  never  heard  it  till 
now." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  my  man  ?"  murmured  the  personage 
in  cinder-gray. 

"  Surely  it  is !"  said  the  shepherd,  involuntarily.  "  And 
surely  we've  seen  him  !  That  little  man  who  looked  in  at 
the  door  by  now,  and  quivered  like  a  leaf  when  he  seed  ye 
and  heard  your  song." 

"  His  teeth  chattered,  and  the  breath  went  out  of  his 
body,"  said  the  dairy-man. 


18  WESSEX  TALES. 

"And  his  heart  seemed  to  sink  within  him  like  a  stone," 
said  Oliver  Giles. 

"And  he  bolted  as  if  he'd  been  shot  at,"  said  the  hedge- 
carpenter. 

"True  —  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  heart  seemed  to 
sink ;  and  he  bolted  as  if  he'd  been  shot  at,"  slowly  sum 
med  up  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner. 

"  I  didn't  notice  it,"  remarked  the  hangman. 

"We  were  all  a-wondering  what  made  him  run  off  in 
such  a  fright,"  faltered  one  of  the  women  against  the  wall, 
"  and  now  'tis  explained." 

The  firing  of  the  alarm -gun  went  on  at  intervals,  low 
and  sullenly,  and  their  suspicions  became  a  certainty.  The 
sinister  gentleman  in  cinder-gray  roused  himself.  "Is  there 
a  constable  here?"  he  asked,  in  thick  tones.  "If  so,  let 
him  step  forward." 

The  engaged  man  of  fifty  stepped  quavering  out  of  the 
corner,  his  betrothed  beginning  to  sob  on  the  back  of  the 
chair. 

"  You  are  a  sworn  constable  ?" 

"I  be,  sir." 

"  Then  pursue  the  criminal  at  once,  with  assistance,  and 
bring  him  back  here.  He  can't  have  gone  far." 

"  I  will,  sir,  I  will — when  I've  got  my  staff.  I'll  go  home 
and  get  it,  and  come  sharp  here,  and  start  in  a  body." 

"  Staff! — never  mind  your  staff;  the  man  '11  be  gone!" 

"  But  I  can't  do  nothing  without  my  staff — can  I,  Will 
iam,  and  John,  and  Charles  Jake?  No;  for  there's  the 
King's  royal  crown  a-painted  on  en  in  yaller  and  gold,  and 
the  lion  and  the  unicorn,  so  as  when  I  raise  en  up  and  hit 
my  prisoner,  'tis  made  a  lawful  blow  thereby.  I  wouldn't 
'tempt  to  take  a  man  without  my  staff — no,  not  I.  If  I 
hadn't  the  law  to  gie  me  courage,  why,  instead  o'  my  tak 
ing  up  him  he  might  take  up  me !" 

"  Now,  I'm  a  King's  man  myself,  and  can  give  you  au 
thority  enough  for  this,"  said  the  formidable  officer  in 
gray.  "  Now  then,  all  of  ye,  be  ready.  Have  ye  any 
lanterns?" 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS.  19 

"  Yes — have  ye  any  lanterns  ? — I  demand  it !"  said  the 
constable. 

"  And  the  rest  of  you  able-bodied — " 

"  Able-bodied  men — yes — the  rest  of  ye  1"  said  the  con 
stable. 

"Have  you  some  good  stout  staves  and  pitchforks — " 

"  Staves  and  pitchforks — in  the  name  o'  the  law !  And 
take  'em  in  yer  hands  and  go  in  quest,  and  do  as  we  in 
authority  tell  ye !" 

Thus  aroused,  the  men  prepared  to  give  chase.  The 
evidence  was,  indeed,  though  circumstantial,  so  convinc 
ing,  that  but  little  argument  was  needed  to  show  the 
shepherd's  guests  that  after  what  they  had  seen  it  would 
look  very  much  like  connivance  if  they  did  not  instantly 
pursue  the  unhappy  third  stranger,  who  could  not  as  yet 
have  gone  more  than  a  few  hundred  yards  over  such  un 
even  country. 

A  shepherd  is  always  well  provided  with  lanterns  ;  and, 
lighting  these  hastily,  and  with  hurdle  -  staves  in  their 
hands,  they  poured  out  of  the  door,  taking  a  direction 
along  the  crest  of  the  hill,  away  from  the  town,  the  rain 
having  fortunately  a  little  abated. 

Disturbed  by  the  noise,  or  possibly  by  unpleasant 
dreams  of  her  baptism,  the  child  who  had  been  christened 
began  to  cry  heart-brokenly  in  the  room  overhead.  These 
notes  of  grief  came  down  through  the  chinks  of  the  floor 
to  the  ears  of  the  women  below,  who  jumped  up  one  by 
one,  and  seemed  glad  of  the  excuse  to  ascend  and  comfort 
the  baby,  for  the  incidents  of  the  last  half-hour  greatly 
oppressed  them.  Thus  in  the  space  of  two  or  three  min 
utes  the  room  on  the  ground-floor  was  deserted  quite. 

But  it  was  not  for  long.  Hardly  had  the  sound  of  foot 
steps  died  away  when  a  man  returned  round  the  corner 
of  the  house  from  the  direction  the  pursuers  had  taken. 
Peeping  in  at  the  door,  and  seeing  nobody  there,  he  entered 
leisurely.  It  was  the  stranger  of  the  chimney-corner,  who 
had  gone  out  with  the  rest.  The  motive  of  his  return 
was  shown  by  his  helping  himself  to  a  cut  piece  of  skim- 


20  WESSEX  TALES. 

mer-cake  that  lay  on  a  ledge  beside  where  he  had  sat,  and 
which  he  had  apparently  forgotten  to  take  with  him.  He 
also  poured  out  half  a  cup  more  mead  from  the  quantity 
that  remained,  ravenously  eating  and  drinking  these  as  he 
stood.  He  had  not  finished  when  another  figure  came  in 
just  as  quietly — his  friend  in  cinder-gray. 

«Oh — you  here?"  said  the  latter,  smiling.  "I  thought 
you  had  gone  to  help  in  the  capture."  And  this  speaker 
also  revealed  the  object  of  his  return  by  looking  solici 
tously  round  for  the  fascinating  mug  of  old  mead. 

"  And  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  said  the  other,  contin 
uing  his  skimmer-cake  with  some  effort. 

"  Well,  on  second  thoughts,  I  felt  there  were  enough 
without  me,"  said  the  first,  confidentially,  "and  such  a 
night  as  it  is,  too.  Besides, 'tis  the  business  o'  the  Gov 
ernment  to  take  care  of  its  criminals — not  mine." 

"  True ;  so  it  is.  And  I  felt  as  you  did,  that  there 
were  enough  without  me." 

"I  don't  want  to  break  my  limbs  running  over  the 
humps  and  hollows  of  this  wild  country." 

"Nor  I  neither,  between  you  and  me." 

"  These  shepherd  people  are  used  to  it — simple-minded 
souls,  you  know,  stirred  up  to  anything  in  a  moment. 
They'll  have  him  ready  for  me  before  the  morning,  and 
no  trouble  to  me  at  all." 

"  They'll  have  him,  and  we  shall  have  saved  ourselves 
all  labor  in  the  matter." 

"  True,  true.  Well,  my  way  is  to  Casterbridge ;  and 
'tis  as  much  as  my  legs  will  do  to  take  me  that  far.  Go 
ing  the  same  way  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say !  I  have  to  get  home  over 
there"  (he  nodded  indefinitely  to  the  right),  "and  I  feel 
as  you  do,  that  it  is  quite  enough  for  my  legs  to  do  before 
bedtime." 

The  other  had  by  this  time  finished  the  mead  in  the 
mug,  after  which,  shaking  hands  heartily  at  the  door,  and 
wishing  each  other  well,  they  went  their  several  ways. 

In  the  mean  time  the  company  of  pursuers  had  reached 


THE  THREE   STRANGERS.  21 

the  end  of  the  hog's-back  elevation  which  dominated  this 
part  of  the  cooinb.  They  had  decided  on  no  particular 
plan  of  action ;  and,  finding  that  the  man  of  the  baleful 
trade  was  no  longer  in  their  company,  they  seemed  quite 
unable  to  form  any  such  plan  now.  They  descended  in 
all  directions  down  the  hill,  and  straightway  several  of 
the  party  fell  into  the  snare  set  by  Nature  for  all  mis 
guided  midnight  ramblers  over  this  part  of  the  cretaceous 
formation.  The  "  lynchets,"  or  flint  slopes,  which  belted 
the  escarpment  at  intervals  of  a  dozen  yards,  took  the  less 
cautious  ones  unawares,  and  losing  their  footing  on  the 
rubbly  steep,  they  slid  sharply  downward,  the  lanterns 
rolling  from  their  hands  to  the  bottom,  and  there  lying 
on  their  sides  till  the  horn  was  scorched  through. 

When  they  had  again  gathered  themselves  together,  the 
shepherd,  as  the  man  who  knew  the  country  best,  took  the 
lead,  and  guided  them  round  these  treacherous  inclines. 
The  lanterns,  which  seemed  rather  to  dazzle  their  eyes  and 
warn  the  fugitive  than  to  assist  them  in  the  exploration, 
were  extinguished,  due  silence  was  observed;  and  in  this 
more  rational  order  they  plunged  into  the  vale.  It  was  a 
grassy,  briery,  moist  defile,  affording  some  shelter  to  any 
person  who  had  sought  it ;  but  the  party  perambulated  it 
in  vain,  and  ascended  on  the  other  side.  Here  they  wan 
dered  apart,  and  after  an  interval  closed  together  again  to 
report  progress.  At  the  second  time  of  closing  in  they 
found  themselves  near  a  lonely  ash,  the  single  tree  on  this 
part  of  the  upland,  probably  sown  there  by  a  passing  bird 
some  fifty  years  before.  And  here,  standing  a  little  to 
one  side  of  the  trunk,  as  motionless  as  the  trunk  itself,  ap 
peared  the  man  they  were  in  quest  of,  his  outline  being 
well  defined  against  the  sky  beyond.  The  band  noise 
lessly  drew  up  and  faced  him. 

"  Your  money  or  your  life !"  said  the  constable,  sternly 
to  the  still  figure. 

"  No,  no,"  whispered  John  Pitcher.  "  'Tisn't  our  side 
ought  to  say  that.  That's  the  doctrine  of  vagabonds  like 
him,  and  we  be  on  the  side  of  the  law." 


22  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Well,  well,"  replied  the  constable,  impatiently ;  "  I 
must  say  something,  mustn't  I  ?  and  if  you  had  all  the 
weight  o'  this  undertaking  upon  your  mind,  perhaps  you'd 
say  the  wrong  thing  too !  Prisoner  at  the  bar,  surrender, 
in  the  name  of  the  Father — the  Crown,  I  mane !" 

The  man  under  the  tree  seemed  now  to  notice  them 
for  the  first  time,  and  giving  them  no  opportunity  what 
ever  for  exhibiting  their  courage,  he  strolled  slowly  tow 
ards  them.  He  was,  indeed,  the  little  man,  the  third 
stranger;  but  his  trepidation  had  in  a  great  measure  gone. 

"  Well,  travellers,"  he  said,  "  did  I  hear  ye  speak  to 
me?" 

"You  did;  you've  got  to  come  and  be  our  prisoner  at 
once,"  said  the  constable.  "  We  arrest  ye  on  the  charge 
of  not  biding  in  Casterbridge  jail  in  a  decent  proper  man 
ner  to  be  hung  to-morrow  morning.  Neighbors,  do  your 
duty,  and  seize  the  culpet !" 

On  hearing  the  charge,  the  man  seemed  enlightened, 
and,  saying  not  another  word,  resigned  himself  with  pre 
ternatural  civility  to  the  search-party,  who,  with  their 
staves  in  their  hands,  surrounded  him  on  all  sides,  and 
marched  him  back  towards  the  shepherd's  cottage. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  by  the  time  they  arrived.  The 
light  shining  from  the  open  door,  a  sound  of  men's  voices 
within,  proclaimed  to  them  as  they  approached  the  house 
that  some  new  events  had  arisen  in  their  absence.  On 
entering  they  discovered  the  shepherd's  living-room  to  be 
invaded  by  two  officers  from  Casterbridge  jail,  and  a  well- 
known  magistrate  who  lived  at  the  nearest  country-seat, 
intelligence  of  the  escape  having  become  generally  circu 
lated. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  constable,  "  I  have  brought  back 
your  man — not  without  risk  and  danger;  but  everyone 
must  do  his  duty  !  He  is  inside  this  circle  of  able-bodied 
persons,  who  have  lent  rne  useful  aid,  considering  their 
ignorance  of  Crown  work.  Men,  bring  forward  your  pris 
oner  !"  And  the  third  stranger  was  led  to  the  light. 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  said  one  of  the  officials. 


THE  THKEE  STRANGERS.  23 

"  The  man,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Certainly  riot,"  said  the  turnkey ;  and  the  first  corrob 
orated  his  statement. 

"  But  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ?"  asked  the  constable. 
"  Or  why  was  he  so  terrified  at  sight  o'  the  singing  instru 
ment  of  the  law  who  sat  there?"  Here  he  related  the 
strange  behavior  of  the  third  stranger  on  entering  the 
house  during  the  hangman's  song. 

"  Can't  understand  it,"  said  the  officer,  coolly.  "  All  I 
know  is  that  it  is  not  the  condemned  man.  He's  quite  a 
different  character  from  this  one;  a  gauntish  fellow,  with 
dark  hair  and  eyes,  rather  good-looking,  and  with  a  mu 
sical  bass  voice  that  if  you  heard  it  once  you'd  never  mis 
take  as  long  as  you  lived." 

"  Why,  souls — 'twas  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner !" 

"Hey — what?"  said  the  magistrate,  coming  forward 
after  inquiring  particulars  from  the  shepherd  in  the  back 
ground.  "  Haven't  you  got  the  man  after  all  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  constable,  "  he's  the  man  we  were 
in  search  of,  that's  true ;  and  yet  he's  not  the  man  we 
were  in  search  of.  For  the  man  we  were  in  search  of  was 
not  the  man  we  wanted,  sir,  if  you  understand  my  every 
day  way;  for  'twas  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner!" 

"A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  altogether!"  said  the  magis 
trate.  "  You  had  better  start  for  the  other  man  at  once." 

The  prisoner  now  spoke  for  the  first  time.  The  men 
tion  of  the  man  in  the  chimney-corner  seemed  to  have 
moved  him  as  nothing  else  could  do.  "  Sir,"  he  said, 
stepping  forward  to  the  magistrate,  "  take  no  more  trou 
ble  about  me.  The  time  is  come  when  I  may  as  well 
speak.  I  have  done  nothing;  my  crime  is  that  the  con 
demned  man  is  my  brother.  Early  this  afternoon  I  left 
home  at  Shottsford  to  tramp  it  all  the  way  to  Casterbridge 
jail  to  bid  him  farewell.  I  was  benighted,  and  called  here 
to  rest  and  ask  the  way.  When  I  opened  the  door  I  saw 
before  me  the  very  man,  my  brother,  that  I  thought  to 
see  in  the  condemned  cell  at  Casterbridge.  He  was  in  this 
chimney-corner;  and  jammed  close  to  him,  so  that  he 


24  WES  SEX  TALES. 

could  not  have  got  out  if  he  had  tried,  was  the  execu 
tioner  who'd  come  to  take  his  life,  singing  a  song  about 
it,  and  not  knowing  that  it  was  his  victim  who  was  close 
by,  joining  in  to  save  appearances.  My  brother  looked  a 
glance  of  agony  at  me,  and  I  knew  he  meant,  "  Don't  re 
veal  what  you  see ;  my  life  depends  on  it."  I  was  so  ter 
ror-struck  that  I  could  hardly  stand,  and,  not  knowing 
what  I  did,  I  turned  and  hurried  away." 

The  narrator's  manner  and  tone  had  the  stamp  of  truth, 
and  his  story  made  a  great  impression  on  all  around. 
"And  do  you  know  where  your  brother  is  at  the  present 
time  ?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"  I  do  not.  I  have  never  seen  him  since  I  closed  this 
door." 

"  I  can  testify  to  that,  for  we've  been  between  ye  ever 
since,"  said  the  constable. 

"Where  does  he  think  to  fly  to? — what  is  his  occupa 
tion  ?" 

"  He's  a  watch  and  clock  maker,  sir." 

"A  said  a  was  a  wheelwright  —  a  wicked  rogue,"  said 
the  constable. 

"  The  wheels  of  clocks  and  watches  he  meant,  no  doubt," 
said  Shepherd  Fennel.  "  I  thought  his  hands  were  palish 
for  's  trade." 

"  Well,  it  appears  to  me  that  nothing  can  be  gained  by 
retaining  this  poor  man  in  custody,"  said  the  magistrate. 
"  Your  business  lies  with  the  other,  unquestionably." 

And  so  the  little  man  was  released  off-hand ;  but  he 
looked  nothing  the  less  sad  on  that  account,  it  being  be 
yond  the  power  of  magistrate  or  constable  to  raze  out 
the  written  troubles  in  his  brain,  for  they  concerned  an 
other  whom  he  regarded  with  more  solicitude  than  him 
self.  When  this  was  done,  and  the  man  had  gone  his 
way,  the  night  was  found  to  be  so  far  advanced  that  it 
was  deemed  useless  to  renew  the  search  before  the  next 
morning. 

Next  day,  accordingly,  the  quest  for  the  clever  sheep- 
stealer  became  general  and  keen,  to  all  appearance  at 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS.  25 

least.  But  the  intended  punishment  was  cruelly  dispro- 
portioned  to  the  transgression,  and  the  sympathy  of  a 
great  many  country  folk  in  that  district  was  strongly  on 
the  side  of  the  fugitive.  Moreover,  his  marvellous  cool 
ness  and  daring  in  hob-and-nobbing  with  the  hangman, 
under  the  unprecedented  circumstances  of  the  shepherd's 
party,  won  their  admiration.  So  that  it  may  be  questioned 
if  all  those  who  ostensibly  made  themselves  so  busy  in 
exploring  woods  and  fields  and  lanes  were  quite  so  thor 
ough  when  it  came  to  the  private  examination  of  their 
own  lofts  and  out-houses.  Stories  were  afloat  of  a  mys 
terious  figure  being  occasionally  seen  in  some  old  over 
grown  track-way  or  other,  remote  from  turnpike-roads; 
but  when  a  search  was  instituted  in  any  of  these  suspected 
quarters  nobody  was  found.  Thus  the  days  and  weeks 
passed  without  tidings. 

In  brief,  the  bass-voiced  man  of  the  chimney-corner 
was  never  recaptured.  Some  said  that  he  went  across  the 
sea,  others  that  he  did  not,  but  buried  himself  in  the 
depths  of  a  populous  city.  At  any  rate,  the  gentleman  in 
cinder-gray  never  did  his  morning's  work  at  Casterbridge, 
nor  met  anywhere  at  all,  for  business  purposes,  the  genial 
comrade  with  whom  he  had  passed  an  hour  of  relaxation 
in  the  lonely  house  on  the  coomb. 

The  grass  has  long  been  green  on  the  graves  of  Shep 
herd  Fennel  and  his  frugal  wife;  the  guests  who  made 
up  the  christening-party  have  mainly  followed  their  enter 
tainers  to  the  tomb ;  the  baby  in  whose  honor  they  all 
had  met  is  a  matron  in  the  sear  and  yellow  leaf.  But  the 
arrival  of  the  three  strangers  at  the  shepherd's  that  night, 
and  the  details  connected  therewith,  is  a  story  as  well 
known  as  ever  in  the  country  about  Higher  Crowstairs. 


THE  WITHERED  ARM. 


i. 

A  LORN  MILKMAID. 

IT  was  an  eighty-cow  dairy,  and  the  troop  of  milkers, 
regular  and  supernumerary,  were  all  at  work ;  for,  though 
the  time  of  the  year  was  as  yet  but  early  April,  the  feed 
lay  entirely  in  water-meadows,  and  the  cows  were  "  in  full 
pail."  The  hour  was  about  six  in  the  evening,  and  three- 
fourths  of  the  large,  red,  rectangular  animals  having  been 
finished  oif,  there  was  opportunity  for  a  little  conversa 
tion. 

"  He  brings  home  his  bride  to-morrow,  I  hear.  They've 
come  as  far  as  Anglebury  to-day." 

The  voice  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  belly  of  the  cow 
called  Cherry,  but  the  speaker  was  a  milking- woman, 
whose  face  was  buried  in  the  flank  of  that  motionless 
beast. 

"  Has  anybody  seen  her  ?"  said  another. 

There  was  a  negative  response  from  the  first.  "  Though 
they  say  she's  a  rosy  -  cheeked,  tisty-tosty  little  body 
enough,"  she  added;  and  as  the  milkmaid  spoke  she 
turned  her  face  so  that  she  could  glance  past  her  cow's 
tail  to  the  other  side  of  the  barton,  where  a  thin,  faded 
woman  of  thirty  milked  somewhat  apart  from  the  rest. 

"  Years  younger  than  he,  they  say,"  continued  the  sec 
ond,  with  also  a  glance fof  reflectiveness  in  the  same  direc 
tion. 

"  How  old  do  you  call  him,  then  ?" 


THE   WITHERED  ARM.  27 

"  Thirty  or  so." 

"  More  like  forty,"  broke  in  an  old  milkman  near,  in  a 
long  white  pinafore  or  "  wropper,"  and  with  the  brim  of 
his  hat  tied  down  so  that  he  looked  like  a  woman.  "A 
was  born  before  our  Great  Weir  was  builded,  and  I  hadn't 
man's  wages  when  I  laved  water  there." 

The  discussion  waxed  so  warm  that  the  purr  of  the 
milk-streams  became  jerky,  till  a  voice  from  another  cow's 
belly  cried  with  authority,  "  Now  then,  what  the  Turk  do 
it  matter  to  us  about  Farmer  Lodge's  age,  or  Farmer 
Lodge's  new  mis'ess !  I  shall  have  to  pay  him  nine  pound 
a  year  for  the  rent  of  every  one  of  these  milehers,  what 
ever  his  age  or  hers.  Get  on  with  your  work,  or  'twill 
be  dark  before  we  have  done.  The  evening  is  pinking  in 
a'ready."  This  speaker  was  the  dairy-man  himself,  by 
whom  the  milkmaids  and  men  were  employed. 

Nothing  more  was  said  publicly  about  Farmer  Lodge's 
wedding,  but  the  first  woman  murmured  under  her  cow 
to  her  next  neighbor,  "  'Tis  hard  for  she"  signifying  the 
thin,  worn  milkmaid  aforesaid. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  second.  "  He  hasn't  spoke  to  Rhoda 
Brook  for  years." 

When  the  milking  was  done  they  washed  their  pails 
and  hung  them  on  a  many-forked  stand  made  of  the  peeled 
limb  of  an  oak-tree,  set  upright  in  the  earth,  and  resem 
bling  a  colossal  antlered  horn.  The  majority  then  dis 
persed  in  various  directions  homeward.  The  thin  woman 
who  had  not  spoken  was  joined  by  a 'boy  of  twelve  or 
thereabout,  and  the  twain  went  away  up  the  field  also. 

Their  course  lay  apart  from  that  of  the  others,  to  a 
lonely  spot  high  above  the  water-meads,  and  not  far  from 
the  border  of  Egdon  Heath,  whose  dark  countenance  was 
visible  in  the  distance  as  they  drew  nigh  to  their  home. 

"They've  just  been  saying  down  in  barton  that  your 
father  brings  his  young  wife  home  from  Anglebury  to 
morrow,"  the  woman  observed.  "I  shall  want  to  send 
you  for  a  few  things  to  market,  and  you'll  be  pretty  sure 
to  meet  'em." 


28  WESSEX  TALES. 

"Yes,  mother,"  said  the  boy.  "Is  father  married, 
then?" 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  You  can  give  her  a  look,  and  tell  me  what 
she's  like,  if  you  do  see  her." 

"Yes,  mother." 

"If  she's  dark  or  fair,  and  if  she's  tall — as  tall  as  I. 
And  if  she  seems  like  a  woman  who  has  ever  worked  for 
a  living,  or  one  that  has  been  always  well  off,  and  has 
never  done  anything,  and  shows  marks  of  the  lady  on  her, 
as  I  expect  she  do." 

"Yes." 

They  crept  up  the  hill  in  the  twilight,  and  entered  the 
cottage.  It  was  thatched,  and  built  of  mud-walls,  the  sur 
face  of  which  had  been  washed  by  many  rains  into  chan 
nels  and  depressions  that  left  none  of  the  original  flat  face 
visible ;  while  here  and  there  a  rafter  showed  like  a  bone 
protruding  through  the  skin. 

She  was  kneeling  down  in  the  chimney-corner,  before 
two  pieces  of  turf  laid  together  with  the  heather  inward, 
blowing  at  the  red-hot  ashes  with  her  breath  till  the  turfs 
flamed.  The  radiance  lit  her  pale  cheek,  and  made  her 
dark  eyes,  that  had  once  been  handsome,  seem  handsome 
anew.  "Yes,"  she  resumed,  "see  if  she  is  dark  or  fair; 
and  if  you  can,  notice  if  her  hands  are  white ;  if  not,  see 
if  they  look  as  though  she  had  ever  done  housework,  or 
are  milker's  hands  like  mine." 

The  boy  again  promised,  inattentively  this  time,  his 
mother  not  observing  that  he  was  cutting  a  notch  with 
his  pocket-knife  in  the  beech-backed  chair. 


THE   WITHERED   ARM.  29 


II. 

THE  YOUNG  WIFE. 

THE  road  from  Anglebury  to  Holmstoke  is  in  general 
level ;  but  there  is  one  place  where  a  sharp  ascent  breaks 
its  monotony.  Farmers  homeward-bound  from  the  for 
mer  market-town,  who  trot  all  the  rest  of  the  way,  walk 
their  horses  up  this  short  incline. 

The  next  evening,  while  the  sun  was  yet  bright,  a  hand 
some  new  gig,  with  a  lemon-colored  body  and  red  wheels, 
wras  spinning  westward  along  the  level  highway  at  the 
heels  of  a  powerful  mare.  The  driver  was  a  yeoman  in 
the  prime  of  life,  cleanly  shaven  like  an  actor,  his  face 
being  toned  to  that  bluish-vermilion  hue  which  so  often 
graces  a  thriving  farmer's  features  when  returning  home 
after  successful  dealings  in  the  town.  Beside  him  sat  a 
wroman,  many  years  his  junior  —  almost,  indeed,  a  girl. 
Her  face,  too,  was  fresh  in  color,  but  it  was  of  a  totally 
different  quality — soft  and  evanescent,  like  the  light  un 
der  a  heap  of  rose-petals. 

Few  people  travelled  this  way,  for  it  was  not  a  turn 
pike-road;  and  the  long  white  ribbon  of  gravel  that 
stretched  before  them  was  empty,  save  of  one  small  scarce- 
moving  speck,  which  presently  resolved  itself  into  the  fig 
ure  of  a  boy,  who  was  creeping  on  at  a  snail's  pace,  and 
continually  looking  behind  him — the  heavy  bundle  he 
carried  being  some  excuse  for,  if  not  the  reason  of,  his 
dilatoriness.  When  the  bouncing  gig-party  slowed  at  the 
bottom  of  the  incline  before  mentioned,  the  pedestrian 
was  only  a  few  yards  in  front.  Supporting  the  large  bun 
dle  by  putting  one  hand  on  his  hip,  he  turned  and  looked 
straight  at  the  farmer's  wife  as  though  he  would  read  her 
through  and  through,  pacing  along  abreast  of  the  horse. 

The  low  sun  was  full  in  her  face,  rendering  every  feat- 


30  WESSEX  TALES. 

ure,  shade,  and  contour  distinct,  from  the  curve  of  her 
little  nostril  to  the  color  of  her  eyes.  The  farmer,  though 
he  seemed  annoyed  at  the  boy's  persistent  presence,  did 
not  order  him  to  get  out  of  the  way  ;  and  thus  the  lad 
preceded  them,  his  hard  gaze  never  leaving  her,  till  they 
reached  the  top  of  the  ascent,  when  the  farmer  trotted  on 
with  relief  in  his  lineaments — having  taken  no  outward 
notice  of  the  boy  whatever. 

"How  that  poor  lad  stared  at  me!"  said  the  young 
wife. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  saw  that  he  did." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  village,  I  suppose  ?" 

"One  of  the  neighborhood.  I  think  he  lives  with  his 
mother  a  mile  or  two  off." 

"  He  knows  who  we  are,  no  doubt  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  You  must  expect  to  be  stared  at  just  at  first, 
my  pretty  Gertrude." 

"I  do — though  I  think  the  poor  boy  may  have  looked 
at  us  in  the  hope  that  we  might  relieve  him  of  his  heavy 
load,  rather  than  from  curiosity." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  her  husband,  off-handedly.  "  These  coun 
try  lads  will  carry  a  hundred-weight  once  they  get  it  on 
their  backs;  besides,  his  pack  had  more  size  than  weight 
in  it.  Now,  then,  another  mile  and  I  shall  be  able  to 
show  you  our  house  in  the  distance — if  it  is  not  too  dark 
before  we  get  there."  The  wheels  spun  round,  and  par 
ticles  flew  from  their  periphery  as  before,  till  a  white 
house  of  ample  dimensions  revealed  itself,  with  farin- 
buildings  and  ricks  at  the  back. 

Meanwhile  the  boy  had  quickened  his  pace,  and  turn 
ing  up  a  by-lane  some  mile  and  a  half  short  of  the  white 
farmstead,  ascended  towards  the  leaner  pastures,  and  so 
on  to  the  cottage  of  his  mother. 

She  had  reached  home  after  her  day's  milking  at  the 
outlying  dairy,  and  was  washing  cabbage  at  the  door-way 
in  the  declining  light.  "Hold  up  the  net  a  moment," 
she  said,  without  preface,  as  the  boy  came  up. 

He  flung  down  his  bundle,  held  the  edge  of  the  cab- 


THE   WITHERED  ARM.  31 

bage-net,  and  as  she  tilled  its  meshes  with  the  dripping 
leaves  she  went  on  :  "  Well,  did  you  see  her?" 

"  Yes ;  quite  plain." 

"Is  she  lady-like?" 

"  Yes ;  and  more.     A  lady  complete." 

"Is  she  young?" 

"  Well,  she's  growed  up,  and  her  ways  are  quite  a 
woman's." 

"  Of  course.     What  color  is  her  hair  and  face  ?" 

"  Her  hair  is  lightish,  and  her  face  as  comely  as  a  live 
doll's." 

"  Her  eyes,  then,  are  not  dark  like  mine  ?" 

"No — of  a  bluish  turn;  and  her  mouth  is  very  nice  and 
red,  and  when  she  smiles  her  teeth  show  white." 

"Is  she  tall?"  said  the  woman,  sharply. 

"I  couldn't  see.     She  was  sitting  down." 

"  Then  do  you  go  to  Holmstoke  Church  to-morrow 
morning  —  she's  sure  to  be  there.  Go  early  and  notice 
her  walking  in,  and  come  home  and  tell  me  if  she's  taller 
than  I." 

"  Very  well,  mother.  But  why  don't  you  go  and  see 
for  yourself  ?" 

"/go  to  see  her!  I  wouldn't  look  up  at  her  if  she 
were  to  pass  my  window  this  instant.  She  was  with  Mr. 
Lodge,  of  course  ?  What  did  he  say  or  do  ?" 

"  Just  the  same  as  usual." 

"  Took  no  notice  of  you  ?" 

"None." 

Next  day  the  mother  put  a  clean  shirt  on  the  boy,  and 
started  him  off  for  Holmstoke  Church.  He  reached  the 
ancient  little  pile,  when  the  door  was  just  being  opened, 
and  he  was  the  first  to  enter.  Taking  his  seat  by  the 
font,  he  watched  all  the  parishioners  file  in.  The  well- 
to-do  Farmer  Lodge  came  nearly  last;  and  his  young 
wife,  who  accompanied  him,  walked  up  the  aisle  with  the 
shyness  natural  to  a  modest  woman  who  had  appeared 
thus  for  the  first  time.  As  all  other  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her,  the  youth's  stare  was  not  noticed  now. 


32  W ESSEX  TALES. 

When  he  reached  home  his  mother  said  "  Well?"  before 
he  had  entered  the  room. 

"  She  is  not  tall.     She  is  rather  short,"  he  replied. 

"  Ah  !"  said  his  mother,  with  satisfaction. 

"  But  she's  very  pretty — very.  In  fact,  she's  lovely." 
The  youthful  freshness  of  the  yeoman's  wife  had  evident 
ly  made  an  impression  even  on  the  somewhat  hard  nature 
of  the  boy. 

"  That's  all  I  want  to  hear,"  said  his  mother,  quickly. 
"Now  spread  the  table-cloth.  The  hare  you  caught  is 
very  tender;  but  mind  that  nobody  catches  you.  You've 
never  told  me  what  sort  of  hands  she  had." 

"I  have  never  seen  'em.  She  never  took  off  her 
gloves." 

"  What  did  she  wear  this  morning  ?" 

"A  white  bonnet  and  a  silver -colored  gownd.  It 
whewed  and  whistled  so  loud  when  it  rubbed  against  the 
pews  that  the  lady  colored  up  more  than  ever  for  very 
shame  at  the  noise,  and  pulled  it  in  to  keep  it  from  touch 
ing;  but  when  she  pushed  into  her  seat  it  whewed  more 
than  ever.  Mr.  Lodge,  he  seemed  pleased,  and  his  waist 
coat  stuck  out,  and  his  great  golden  seals  hung  like  a 
lord's;  but  she  seemed  to  wish  her  noisy  gownd  anywhere 
but  on  her." 

"Not  she  !     However,  that  will  do  now." 

These  descriptions  of  the  newly  married  couple  were 
continued  from  time  to  time  by  the  boy  at  his  mother's 
request,  after  any  chance  encounter  he  had  had  with 
them.  But  Rhoda  Brook,  though  she  might  easily  have 
seen  young  Mrs.  Lodge  for  herself  by  walking  a  couple 
of  miles,  would  never  attempt  an  excursion  towards  the 
quarter  where  the  farm-house  lay.  Neither  did  she,  at  the 
daily  milking  in  the  dairy-man's  yard  on  Lodge's  outlying 
second  farm,  ever  speak  on  the  subject  of  the  recent  mar 
riage.  The  dairy-man,  who  rented  the  cows  of  Lodge,  and 
knew  perfectly  the  tall  milkmaid's  history,  with  manly 
kindliness  always  kept  the  gossip  in  the  cow-barton  from 
annoying  Rhoda.  But  the  atmosphere  thereabout  was 


THE   WITHERED   ARM.  33 

full  of  the  subject  during  the  first  days  of  Mrs.  Lodge's 
arrival ;  and  from  her  boy's  description  and  the  casual 
words  of  the  other  milkers,  Rhoda  Brook  could  raise  a 
mental  image  of  the  unconscious  Mrs.  Lodge  that  was 
realistic  as  a  photograph. 


III. 

A  VISION. 

ONE  night,  two  or  three  weeks  after  the  bridal  return, 
when  the  boy  was  gone  to  bed,  Khoda  sat  a  long  time 
over  the  turf-ashes  that  she  had  raked  out  in  front  of  her 
to  extinguish  them.  She  contemplated  so  intently  the 
new  wife,  as  presented  to  her  in  her  mind's  eye  over  the 
embers,  that  she  forgot  the  lapse  of  time.  At  last,  wearied 
with  her  day's  work,  she  too  retired. 

But  the  figure  which  had  occupied  her  so  much  during 
this  and  the  previous  days  was  not  to  be  banished  at  night. 
For  the  first  time  Gertrude  Lodge  visited  the  supplanted 
woman  in  her  dreams.  lihoda  Brook  dreamed— since  her 
assertion  that  she  really  saw,  before  falling  asleep,  was  not 
to  be  believed — that  the  young  wife,  in  the  pale  silk  dress 
and  white  bonnet,  but'with  features  shockingly  distorted, 
and  wrinkled  as  by  age,  was  sitting  upon  her  chest  as  she 
lay.  The  pressure  of  Mrs.  Lodge's  person  grew  heavier ; 
the  blue  eyes  peered  cruelly  into  her  face ;  and  then  the 
figure  thrust  forward  its  left  hand  mockingly,  so  as  to 
make  the  wedding-ring  it  wore  glitter  in  Ehoda's  eyes. 
Maddened  mentally,  and  nearly  suffocated  by  pressure,  the 
sleeper  struggled ;  the  incubus,  still  regarding  her,  with 
drew  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  only,  however,  to  come  for 
ward  by  degrees,  resume  her  seat,  and  flash  her  left  hand 
as  before. 

Gasping  for  breath,  Rhoda,  in  a  last  desperate  effort, 
swung  out  her  right  hand,  seized  the  confronting  spectre 
3 


34:  WESSEX  TALES. 

by  its  obtrusive  left  arm,  and  whirled  it  backward  to  the 
floor,  starting  up  herself,  as  she  did  so,  with  a  low  cry. 

"Oh,  merciful  Heaven  !"  she  cried,  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  in  a  cold  sweat,  "that  was  not  a  dream — she 
was  here !" 

She  could  feel  her  antagonist's  arm  within  her  grasp 
even  now — the  very  flesh  and  bone  of  it,  as  it  seemed. 
She  looked  on  the  floor  whither  she  had  whirled  the  spec 
tre,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen. 

Rhoda  Brook  slept  no  more  that  night,  and  when  she 
went  milking  at  the  next  dawn  they  noticed  how  pale 
and  haggard  she  looked.  The  milk  that  she  drew  quiv 
ered  into  the  pail;  her  hand  had  not  calmed  even  yet, 
and  still  retained  the  feel  of  the  arm.  She  came  home 
to  breakfast  as  wearily  as  if  it  had  been  supper-time. 

"What  was  that  noise  in  your  chimrner,  mother,  last 
night?"  said  her  son.  "You  fell  off  the  bed,  surely?" 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  fall  ?     At  what  time?" 

"  Just  when  the  clock  struck  two." 

She  could  not  explain,  and  when  the  meal  was  done 
went  silently  about  her  household  work,  the  boy  assisting 
her,  for  he  hated  going  afield  on  the  farms,  and  she  in 
dulged  his  reluctance.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  the 
garden  gate  clicked,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  window. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  within  the  gate,  stood  the 
woman  of  her  vision.  Rhoda  seemed  transfixed. 

"Ah,  she  said  she  would  come !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  also 
observing  her. 

"Said  so — when  ?     How  does  she  know  us?" 

"  I  have  seen  and  spoken  to  her,  I  talked  to  her  yes 
terday." 

"  I  told  you,"  said  the  mother,  flushing  indignantly, 
"  never  to  speak  to  anybody  in  that  house,  or  go  near  the 
place." 

"I  did  not  speak  to  her  till  she  spoke  to  me.  And  I 
did  not  go  near  the  place.  I  met  her  in  the  road." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"Nothing.     She  said,  'Are  you  the  poor  boy  who  had 


THE   WITHERED    ARM.  35 

to  bring  the  heavy  load  from  market  ?'  And  she  looked 
at  my  boots,  and  said  they  would  not  keep  my  feet  dry 
if  it  came  on  wet,  because  they  were  so  cracked.  I  told 
her  I  lived  with  my  mother,  and  we  had  enough  to  do 
to  keep  ourselves,  and  that's  how  it  was;  and  she  said  then, 
'  I'll  come  and  bring  you  some  better  boots,  and  see  your 
mother.'  She  gives  away  things  to  other  folks  in  the 
meads  besides  us." 

Mrs.  Lodge  was  by  this  time  close  to  the  door — not  in 
her  silk,  as  Rhoda  had  seen  her  in  the  bedchamber,  but 
in  a  morning  hat,  and  gown  of  common  light  material, 
which  became  her  better  than  silk.  On  her  arm  she  car 
ried  a  basket. 

The  impression  remaining  from  the  night's  experience 
was  still  strong.  Brook  had  almost  expected  to  see  the 
wrinkles,  the  scorn,  and  the  cruelty  on  her  visitor's  face. 
She  would  have  escaped  an  interview,  had  escape  been 
possible.  There  was,  however,  no  back  door  to  the  cottage, 
and  in  an  instant  the  boy  had  lifted  the  latch  to  Mrs. 
Lodge's  gentle  knock. 

"  I  see  I  have  come  to  the  right  house,"  said  she,  glanc 
ing  at  the  lad,  and  smiling.  "  But  I  was  not  sure  till  you 
opened  the  door." 

The  figure  and  action  were  those  of  the  phantom ;  but 
her  voice  was  so  indescribably  sweet,  her  glance  so  win 
ning,  her  smile  so  tender,  so  unlike  that  of  Rhoda's  mid 
night  visitant,  that  the  latter  could  hardly  believe  the 
evidence  of  her  senses.  She  was  truly  glad  that  she  had 
not  hidden  away  in  sheer  aversion,  as  she  had  been  in 
clined  to  do.  In  her  basket  Mrs.  Lodge  brought  the  pair 
of  boots  that  she  had  promised  to  the  boy,  and  other  use 
ful  articles. 

At  these  proofs  of  a  kindly  feeling  towards  her  and 
hers,  Ehoda's  heart  reproached  her  bitterly.  This  inno 
cent  young  thing  should  have  her  blessing  and  not  her 
curse.  When  she  left  them,  a  light  seemed  gone  from  the 
dwelling.  Two  days  later  she  came  again  to  know  if  the 
boots  fitted;  and  less  than  a  fortnight  after  that  paid 


36  WESSEX  TALES. 

Rhoda  another  call.  On  this  occasion  the  boy  was  ab 
sent. 

"  I  walk  a  good  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Lodge,  "  and  your  house 
is  the  nearest  outside  our  own  parish.  I  hope  you  are 
well.  You  don't  look  quite  well." 

Rhoda  said  she  was  well  enough;  and  indeed,  though 
the  paler  of  the  two,  there  was  more  of  the  strength  that 
endures  in  her  well-defined  features  and  large  frame  than 
in  the  soft-cheeked  young  woman  before  her.  The  con 
versation  became  quite  confidential  as  regarded  their  pow 
ers  and  weaknesses ;  and  when  Mrs.  Lodge  was  leaving, 
Rhoda  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  find  this  air  agree  with  you, 
ma'am,  and  not  suffer  from  the  damp  of  the  water-meads." 

The  younger  one  replied  that  there  was  not  much  doubt 
of  it,  her  general  health  being  usually  good.  "  Though, 
now  you  remind  me,"  she  added,  "  I  have  one  little  ail 
ment  which  puzzles  me.  It  is  nothing  serious,  but  I  can 
not  make  it  out." 

She  uncovered  her  left  hand  and  arm;  and  their  out 
line  confronted  Rhoda's  gaze  as  the  exact  original  of  the 
limb  she  had  beheld  and  seized  in  her  dream.  Upon  the 
pink  round  surface  of  the  arm  were  faint  marks  of  an 
unhealthy  color,  as  if  produced  by  a  rough  grasp.  Rhoda's 
eyes  became  riveted  on  the  discolorations ;  she  fancied 
that  she  discerned  in  them  the  shape  of  her  own  four 
fingers. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?"  she  said,  mechanically. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Mrs.  Lodge,  shaking  her  head. 
"  One  night  when  I  was  sound  asleep,  dreaming  I  was 
away  in  some  strange  place,  a  pain  suddenly  shot  into  my 
arm  there,  and  was  so  keen  as  to  awaken  me.  I  must 
have  struck  it  in  the  daytime,  I  suppose,  though  I  don't 
remember  doing  so."  She  added,  laughing,  "  I  tell  my 
dear  husband  that  it  looks  just  as  if  he  had  flown  into  a 
rage  and  struck  me  there.  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  will  soon 
disappear." 

"  Ha,  ha !     Yes !     On  what  night  did  it  come  ?" 

Mrs.  Lodge  considered,  and  said  it  would  be  a  fortnight 


THE   WITHERED   ARM.  37 

ago  on  the  morrow.  "  When  I  awoke  I  could  not  remem 
ber  where  I  was,"  she  added,  "till  the  clock  striking  two 
reminded  me." 

She  had  named  the  night  and  the  hour  of  Rhoda's  spec 
tral  encounter,  and  Brook  felt  like  a  guilty  thing.  The 
artless  disclosure  startled  her;  she  did  not  reason  on  the 
freaks  of  coincidence ;  and  all  the  scenery  of  that  ghastly 
night  returned  with  double  vividness  to  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  can  it  be,"  she  said  to  herself,  when  her  visitor 
had  departed,  "that  I  exercise  a  malignant  power  over 
people  against  my  own  will  ?"  She  knew  that  she  had 
been  slyly  called  a  witch  since  her  fall ;  but  never  having 
understood  why  that  particular  stigma  had  been  attached 
to  her,  it  had  passed  disregarded.  Could  this  be  the  ex 
planation,  and  had  such  things  as  this  ever  happened  be 
fore  ? 


IV. 

A  SUGGESTION. 

THE  summer  drew  on,  and  Rhoda  Brook  almost  dreaded 
to  meet  Mrs.  Lodge  again,  notwithstanding  that  her  feel 
ing  for  the  young  wife  amounted  wellnigh  to  affection. 
Something  in  her  own  individuality  seemed  to  convict 
Rhoda  of  crime.  Yet  a  fatality  sometimes  would  direct 
the  steps  of  the  latter  to  the  outskirts  of  Holmstoke  when 
ever  she  left  her  house  for  any  other  purpose  than  her 
daily  work ;  and  hence  it  happened  that  their  next  en 
counter  was  out-of-doors.  Rhoda  could  not  avoid  the 
subject  which  had  so  mystified  her,  and  after  the  first 
few  words  she  stammered,  "I  hope  your  —  arm  is  well 
again,  ma'am  ?"  She  had  perceived  with  consternation 
that  Gertrude  Lodge  carried  her  left  arm  stiffly. 

"No;  it  is  not  quite  well.  Indeed  it  is  no  better  at 
all ;  it  is  rather  worse.  It  pains  me  dreadfully  some 
times." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  to  a  doctor,  ma'am." 


38  WESSEX  TALES. 

She  replied  that  she  had  already  seen  a  doctor.  Her 
husband  had  insisted  upon  her  going  to  one.  But  the 
surgeon  had  not  seemed  to  understand  the  afflicted  limb 
at  all ;  he  had  told  her  to  bathe  it  in  hot  water,  and  she 
had  bathed  it,  but  the  treatment  had  done  no  good. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  it?"  said  the  milk  wo  man. 

Mrs.  Lodge  pushed  up  her  sleeve  and  disclosed  the 
place,  which  was  a  few  inches  above  the  wrist.  As  soon 
as  Ehoda  Brook  saw  it  she  could  hardly  preserve  her 
composure.  There  was  nothing  of  the  nature  of  a  wound, 
but  the  arm  at  that  point  had  a  shrivelled  look,  and  the 
outline  of  the  four  fingers  appeared  more  distinct  than  at 
the  former  time.  Moreover,  she  fancied  that  they  were 
imprinted  in  precisely  the  relative  position  of  her  clutch 
upon  the  arm  in  the  trance ;  the  first  finger  towards  Ger 
trude's  wrist,  and  the  fourth  towards  her  elbow. 

What  the  impress  resembled  seemed  to  have  struck 
Gertrude  herself  since  their  last  meeting.  "It  looks  al 
most  like  finger-marks,"  she  said;  adding,  with  a  faint 
laugh.  "  My  husband  says  it  is  as  if  some  witch,  or  the 
devil  himself,  had  taken  hold  of  me  there,  and  blasted  the 
flesh." 

Rhoda  shivered.  "  That's  fancy,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"  I  wouldn't  mind  it,  if  I  were  you." 

"I  shouldn't  so  much  mind  it,"  said  the  younger,  with 
hesitation,  "  if — if  I  hadn't  a  notion  that  it  makes  my  hus 
band — dislike  me — no,  love  me  less.  Men  think  so  much 
of  personal  appearance." 

"  Some  do — he  for  one." 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  was  very  proud  of  mine,  at  first." 

"Keep  your  arm  covered  from  his  sight." 

"  Ah,  he  knows  the  disfigurement  is  there  !"  She  tried 
to  hide  the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I  earnestly  hope  it  will  go  away  soon." 

And  so  the  milkwoman's  mind  was  chained  anew  to 
the  subject  by  a  horrid  sort  of  spell  as  she  returned  home. 
The  sense  of  having  been  guilty  of  an  act  of  malignity 
increased,  affect  as  she  might  to  ridicule  her  superstition. 


THE   WITHERED   ARM.  39 

In  her  secret  heart  Rhoda  did  not  altogether  object  to  a 
slight  diminution  of  her  successor's  beauty,  by  whatever 
means  it  had  come  about ;  but  she  did  not  wish  to  inflict 
upon  her  physical  pain.  For  though  this  pretty  young 
woman  had  rendered  impossible  any  reparation  which 
Lodge  might  have  made  Rhoda  for  his  past  conduct, 
everything  like  resentment  at  the  unconscious  usurpation 
had  quite  passed  away  from  the  elder's  mind. 

If  the  sweet  and  kindly  Gertrude  Lodge  only  knew 
of  the  scene  in  the  bedchamber,  what  would  she  think  ? 
Not  to  inform  her  of  it  seemed  treachery  in  the  presence 
of  her  friendliness  ;  but  tell  she  could  not  of  her  own 
accord,  neither  could  she  devise  a  remedy. 

She  mused  upon  the  matter  the  greater  part  of  the 
night ;  and  the  next  day,  after  the  morning  milking,  set 
out  to  obtain  another  glimpse  of  Gertrude  Lodge  if  she 
could,  being  held  to  her  by  a  grewsome  fascination.  T$y 
watching  the  house  from  a  distance  the  milkmaid  was 
presently  able  to  discern  the  farmer's  wife  in  a  ride  she 
was  taking  alone — probably  to  join  her  husband  in  some 
distant  field.  Mrs.  Lodge  perceived  her,  and  cantered  in 
her  direction. 

"  Good-morning,  Rhoda !"  Gertrude  said,  when  she  had 
come  up.  "  I  was  going  to  call." 

Rhoda  noticed  that  Mrs.  Lodge  held  the  reins  with 
some  difficulty. 

"  I  hope — the  bad  arm,"  said  Rhoda. 

"  They  tell  me  there  is  possibly  one  way  by  which  I 
might  be  able  to  find  out  the  cause,  and  so  perhaps  the 
cure  of  it,"  replied  the  other,  anxiously.  "It  is  by  going 
to  some  clever  man  over  in  Egdon  Heath.  They  did  not 
know  if  he  was  still  alive — and  I  cannot  remember  his 
name  at  this  moment ;  but  they  said  that  you  knew  more 
of  his  movements  than  anybody  else  hereabout,  and  could 
tell  me  if  he  were  still  to  be  consulted.  Dear  me — what 
was  his  name?  But  you  know." 

"Not  Conjurer  Trendle?"  said  her  thin  companion, 
turning  pale. 


4:0  WES SEX  TALES. 

"Trendle — yes.     Is  he  alive?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Rhoda,  with  reluctance. 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  conjurer?" 

"Well — they  say — they  used  to  say  he  was  a — he  had 
powers  other  folks  have  not." 

"  Oh,  how  could  my  people  be  so  superstitious  as  to 
recommend  a  man  of  that  sort!  I  thought  they  meant 
some  medical  man.  I  shall  think  no  more  of  him." 

Rhoda  looked  relieved,  and  Mrs.  Lodge  rode  on.  The 
milkwoman  had  inwardly  seen,  from  the  moment  she 
heard  of  her  having  been  mentioned  as  a  reference  for 
this  man,  that  there  must  exist  a  sarcastic  feeling  among 
the  work-folk  that  a  sorceress  would  know  the  where 
abouts  of  the  exorcist.  They  suspected  her,  then.  A 
short  time  ago  this  would  have  given  no  concern  to  a 
woman  of  her  common-sense.  But  she  had  a  haunting 
reason  to  be  superstitious  now ;  and  she  had  been  seized 
with  sudden  dread  that  this  Conjurer  Trendle  might 
name  her  as  the  malignant  influence  which  was  blasting 
the  fair  person  of  Gertrude,  and  so  lead  her  friend  to  hate 
her  forever,  and  to  treat  her  as  some  fiend  in  human  shape. 

But  all  was  not  over.  Two  days  after,  a  shadow  intrud 
ed  into  the  window-pattern  thrown  on  Rhoda  Brook's 
floor  by  the  afternoon  sun.  The  woman  opened  the  door 
at  once,  almost  breathlessly. 

"  Are  you  alone  ?"  said  Gertrude.  She  seemed  to  be 
no  less  harassed  and  anxious  than  Brook  herself. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rhoda. 

"The  place  on  my  arm  seems  worse,  and  troubles  me!" 
the  farmer's  young  wife  went  on.  "  It  is  so  mysterious! 
I  do  hope  it  will  not  be  a  permanent  blemish.  I  have 
again  been  thinking  of  what  they  said  about  Conjurer 
Trendle.  I  don't  really  believe  in  such  men,  but  I  should 
not  mind  just  visiting  him,  from  curiosity — though  on  no 
account  must  my  husband  know.  Is  it  far  to  where  he 
lives?" 

"Yes — five  miles,"  said  Rhoda,  backwardly.  "In  the 
heart  of  Egdon." 


THE  WITHERED   ARM.  41 

"  Well,  I  should  have  to  walk.  Could  not  you  go  with 
me  to  show  me  the  way — say  to-morrow  afternoon  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  I — that  is,"  the  milkwoman  murmured,  with 
a  start  of  dismay.  Again  the  dread  seized  her  that  some 
thing  to  do  with  her  fierce  act  in  the  dream  might  be  re 
vealed,  and  her  character  in  the  eyes  of  the  most  useful 
friend  she  had  ever  had  be  ruined  irretrievably. 

Mrs.  Lodge  urged,  and  Rhoda  finally  assented,  though 
with  much  misgiving.  Sad  as  the  journey  would  be  to 
her,  she  could  not  conscientiously  stand  in  the  way  of  a 
possible  remedy  for  her  patron's  strange  affliction.  It 
was  agreed  that,  to  escape  suspicion  of  their  mystic  intent, 
they  should  meet  at  the  edge  of  the  heath,  at  the  corner 
of  a  plantation  which  was  visible  from  the  spot  where 
they  now  stood. 


V. 

CONJURER  TRENDLE. 

BY  the  next  afternoon  Rhoda  would  have  done  any 
thing  to  escape  this  inquiry.  But  she  had  promised  to  go. 
Moreover,  there  was  a  horrid  fascination  at  times  in  be 
coming  instrumental  in  throwing  such  possible  light  on 
her  own  character  as  would  reveal  her  to  be  something 
greater  in  the  occult  world  than  she  had  ever  herself  sus 
pected. 

She  started  just  before  the  time  of  day  mentioned  be 
tween  them,  and  half  an  hour's  brisk  walking  brought  her 
to  the  south-eastern  extension  of  the  Egdon  tract  of  coun 
try,  where  the  fir  plantation  was.  A  slight  figure,  cloaked 
and  veiled,  was  already  there.  Rhoda  recognized,  almost 
with  a  shudder,  that  Mrs.  Lodge  bore  her  left  arm  in  a 
sling. 

They  hardly  spoke  to  each  other,  and  immediately  set 
out  on  their  climb  into  the  interior  of  this  solemn  coun 
try,  which  stood  high  above  the  rich  alluvial  soil  they 


42  WESSEX  TALES. 

Lad  left  half  an  hour  before.  It  was  a  long  walk ;  thick 
clouds  made  the  atmosphere  dark,  though  it  was  as  yet 
only  early  afternoon  ;  and  the  wind  howled  dismally  over 
the  hills  of  the  heath  —  not  improbably  the  same  heath 
which  had  witnessed  the  agony  of  the  Wessex  King  Ina, 
presented  to  after-ages  as  Lear.  Gertrude  Lodge  talked 
most,  Rhpda  replying  with  monosyllabic  preoccupation. 
She  had  a  strange  dislike  to  walking  on  the  side  of  her 
companion  where  hung  the  afflicted  arm,  moving  round 
to  the  other  when  inadvertently  near  it.  Much  heather 
had  been  brushed  by  their  feet  when  they  descended  upon 
a  cart-track,  beside  which  stood  the  house  of  the  man  they 
sought. 

He  did  not  profess  his  remedial  practices  openly,  or  care 
anything  about  their  continuance,  his  direct  interests  being 
those  of  a  dealer  in  furze,  turf,  "sharp  sand,"  and  other 
local  products.  Indeed,  lie  affected  not  to  believe  largely 
in  his  own  powers,  and  when  warts  that  had  been  shown 
him  for  cure  miraculously  disappeared — which  it  must  be 
owned  they  infallibly  did  —  he  would  say  lightly,  "Oh, 
I  only  drink  a  glass  of  grog  upon  'em — perhaps  it's  all 
chance,"  and  immediately  turn  the  subject. 

He  was  at  home  when  they  arrived,  having,  in  fact,  seen 
them  descending  into  his  valley.  He  was  a  gray-bearded 
man,  with  a  reddish  face,  and  he  looked  singularly  at 
Ehoda  the  first  moment  he  beheld  her.  Mrs.  Lodge  told 
him  her  errand,  and  then  with  words  of  self-disparage 
ment  he  examined  her  arm. 

"Medicine  can't  cure  it,"  he  said,  promptly.  "'Tis  the 
work  of  an  enemy." 

Rhoda  shrank  into  herself  and  drew  back. 

"  An  enemy  ?    What  enemy  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lodge. 

He  shook  his  head.  "That's  best  known  to  yourself," 
he  said.  "  If  you  like  I  can  show  the  person  to  yon,  though 
I  shall  not  myself  know  who  it  is.  I  can  do  no  more,  and 
don't  wish  to  do  that." 

She  pressed  him ;  on  which  he  told  Ehoda  to  wait  out 
side  where  she  stood,  and  took  Mrs.  Lodge  into  the  room. 


THE  WITHERED   ARM.  43 

It  opened  immediately  from  the  door ;  and,  as  the  latter 
remained  ajar,  Rhoda  Brook  could  see  the  proceedings 
without  taking  part  in  them.  He  brought  a  tumbler  from 
the  dresser,  nearly  filled  it  with  water,  and  fetching  an 
egg,  prepared  it  in  some  private  way ;  after  which  he 
broke  it  on  the  edge  of  the  glass,  so  that  the  white  went 
in  and  the  yolk  remained.  As  it  was  getting  gloomy,  he 
took  the  glass  and  its  contents  to  the  window,  and  told 
Gertrude  to  watch  them  closely.  They  leaned  over  the 
table  together,  and  the  milkwoman  could  see  the  opaline 
hue  of  the  egg-fluid  changing  form  as  it  sank  in  the  wa 
ter,  but  she  was  not  near  enough  to  define  the  shape  that 
it  assumed. 

"  Do  you  catch  the  likeness  of  any  face  or  figure  as  you 
look?"  demanded  the  conjurer  of  the  young  woman. 

She  murmured  a  reply,  in  tones  so  low  as  to  be  inaudi 
ble  to  Rhoda,  and  continued  to  gaze  intently  into  the 
glass.  Rhoda  turned,  and  walked  a  few  steps  away. 

When  Mrs.  Lodge  came  out,  and  her  face  was  met  by 
the  light,  it  appeared  exceedingly  pale — as  pale  as  Rhoda's 
—against  the  sad  dun  shades  of  the  upland's  garniture. 
Trendle  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  they  at  once  start 
ed  homeward  together.  But  Rhoda  perceived  that  her 
companion  had  quite  changed. 

"Did  he  charge  much?"  she  asked,  tentatively. 

"Oh  no  —  nothing.  He  would  not  take  a  farthing," 
said  Gertrude. 

"And  what  did  you  see?"  inquired  Rhoda. 

"  Nothing  I — care  to  speak  of."  The  constraint  in  her 
manner  was  remarkable;  her  face  was  so  rigid  as  to  wear 
an  oldened  aspect,  faintly  suggestive  of  the  face  in  Rhoda's 
bedchamber. 

"  Was  it  you  who  first  proposed  coining  here  ?"  Mrs. 
Lodge  suddenly  inquired,  after  a  long  pause.  "  How  very 
odd,  if  you  did  !" 

"  No.  But  I  am  not  sorry  we  have  come,  all  things 
considered,"  she  replied.  For  the  first  time  a  sense  of 
triumph  possessed  her,  and  she  did  not  altogether  deplore 


44  WESSEX  TALES. 

that  the  young  thing  at  her  side  should  learn  that  their 
lives  had  been  antagonized  by  other  influences  than  their 
own. 

The  subject  was  no  more  alluded  to  during  the  long  and 
dreary  walk  home.  But  in  some  way  or  other  a  story  was 
whispered  about  the  many-dairied  Swenn  Valley  that  win 
ter  that  Mrs.  Lodge's  gradual  loss  of  the  use  of  her  left 
arm  was  owing  to  her  being  "overlooked"  by  Rhoda 
Brook.  The  latter  kept  her  own  counsel  about  the  incu 
bus,  but  her  face  grew  sadder  and  thinner ;  and  in  the 
spring  she  and  her  boy  disappeared  from  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Holmstoke. 


VI. 

A  SECOND  ATTEMPT. 

HALF  a  dozen  years  passed  away,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Lodge's  married  experience  sank  into  prosiness,  and  worse. 
The  farmer  was  usually  gloomy  and  silent:  the  woman 
whom  he  had  wooed  for  her  grace  and  beauty  was  con 
torted  and  disfigured  in  the  left  limb ;  moreover,  she  had 
brought  him  no  child,  which  rendered  it  likely  that  he 
would  be  the  last  of  a  family  who  had  occupied  that  val 
ley  for  some  two  hundred  years.  He  thought  of  Rhoda 
Brook  and  her  son,  and  feared  this  might  be  a  judgment 
from  Heaven  upon  him. 

The  once  blithe-hearted  and  enlightened  Gertrude  was 
changing  into  an  irritable,  superstitious  woman,  whose 
whole  time  was  given  to  experimenting  upon  her  ailment 
with  every  quack  remedy  she  came  across.  She  was  hon 
estly  attached  to  her  husband,  and  was  ever  secretly  hoping 
against  hope  to  win  back  his  heart  again  by  regaining 
some  at  least  of  her  personal  beauty.  Hence  it  arose  that 
her  closet  was  lined  with  bottles,  packets,  and  ointment- 
pots  of  every  description — nay,  bunches  of  mystic  herbs, 


THE    WITHERED   ARM.  45 

charms,  and  books  of  necromancy,  which  in  her  school 
girl  time  she  would  have  ridiculed  as  folly. 

"  D d  if  you  won't  poison  yourself  with  these 

apothecary  messes  and  witch  mixtures  some  time  or  oth 
er,"  said  her  husband,  when  his  eye  chanced  to  fall  upon 
the  multitudinous  array. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  turned  her  sad,  soft  glance  upon 
him  in  such  heart-swollen  reproach  that  he  looked  sorry 
for  his  words,  and  added,  "  I  only  meant  it  for  your  good, 
you  know,  Gertrude." 

"  I'll  clear  out  the  whole  lot,  and  destroy  them,"  said 
she,  huskily,  "  and  attempt  such  remedies  no  more !" 

"  You  want  somebody  to  cheer  you,"  he  observed.  "  I 
once  thought  of  adopting  a  boy ;  but  he  is  too  old  now. 
And  he  is  gone  away  I  don't  know  where." 

She  guessed  to  whom  he  alluded;  for  Rhoda  Brook's 
story  had  in  the  course  of  years  become  known  to  her ; 
though  not  a  word  had  ever  passed  between  her  husband 
and  herself  on  the  subject.  Neither  had  she  ever  spoken 
to  him  of  her  visit  to  Conjurer  Trendle,  and  of  what  was 
revealed  to  her,  or  she  thought  was  revealed  to  her,  by 
that  solitary  heath-man. 

She  was  now  five-and-twenty ;  but  she  seemed  older. 
"  Six  years  of  marriage,  and  only  a  few  months  of  love," 
she  sometimes  whispered  to  herself.  And  then  she  thought 
of  the  apparent  cause,  and  said,  with  a  tragic  glance  at  her 
withering  limb,  "  If  I  could  only  again  be  as  I  was  when 
he  first  saw  me  !" 

She  obediently  destroyed  her  nostrums  and  charms ; 
but  there  remained  a  hankering  wish  to  try  something 
else — some  other  sort  of  cure  altogether.  She  had  never 
revisited  Trendle  since  she  had  been  conducted  to  the 
house  of  the  solitary  by  Rhoda  against  her  will ;  but  it 
now  suddenly  occurred  to  Gertrude  that  she  would,  in  a 
last  desperate  effort  at  deliverance  from  this  seeming 
curse,  again  seek  out  the  man,  if  he  yet  lived.  He  was 
entitled  to  a  certain  credence,  for  the  indistinct  form  lie 
had  raised  in  the  glass  had  undoubtedly  resembled  the 


46  WESSEX  TALES. 

only  woman  in  the  world  who — as  she  now  knew,  though 
not  then  —  could  have  a  reason  for  bearing  her  ill-will. 
The  visit  should  he  paid. 

This  time  she  went  alone,  though  she  nearly  got  lost  on 
the  heath,  and  roamed  a  considerable  distance  out  of  her 
way.  Trend le's  house  was  reached  at  last,  however ;  he 
was  not  in-doors,  and  instead  of  waiting  at  the  cottage  she 
went  to  where  his  bent  figure  was  pointed  out  to  her  at 
work  a  long  way  off.  Trendle  remembered  her,  and  lay 
ing  down  the  handful  of  furze-roots  which  he  was  gather 
ing  and  throwing  into  a  heap,  he  offered  to  accompany 
her  in  her  homeward  direction,  as  the  distance  was  con 
siderable  and  the  days  were  short.  So  they  walked  to 
gether,  his  head  bowed  nearly  to  the  earth,  and  his  form 
of  a  color  with  it. 

"You  can  send  away  warts  and  other  excrescences,  I 
know,"  she  said  ;  "  why  can't  you  send  away  this  ?"  And 
the  arm  was  uncovered. 

"  You  think  too  much  of  my  powers !"  said  Trendle ; 
"and  I  am  old  and  weak  now,  too.  No,  no;  it  is  too 
much  for  me  to  attempt  in  my  own  person.  What  have 
ye  tried  ?" 

She  named  to  him  some  of  the  hundred  medicaments 
and  counter-spells  which  she  had  adopted  from  time  to 
time.  He  shook  his  head. 

"Some  were  good  enough,"  he  said,  approvingly;  "but 
not  many  of  them  for  such  as  this.  This  is  of  the  nature 
of  a  blight,  not  of  the  nature  of  a  wound  ;  and  if  you  ever 
do  throw  it  off,  it  will  be  all  at  once." 

"  If  I  only  could  !" 

"  There  is  only  one  chance  of  doing  it  known  to  me. 
It  has  never  failed  in  kindred  afflictions — that  I  can  de 
clare.  But  it  is  hard  to  carry  out,  and  especially  for  a 
woman." 

"  Tell  me  I"  said  she. 

"You  must  touch  with  the  limb  the  neck  of  a  man 
who's  been  hanged." 

She  started  a  little  at  the  image  he  had  raised. 


THE    WITHERED    ARM.  47 

"  Before  he's  cold — just  after  he's  cnt  down,"  continued 
the  conjurer,  impassively. 

"How  can  that  do  good?" 

"  It  will  turn  the  blood  and  change  the  constitution. 
But,  as  I  say,  to  do  it  is  hard.  You  must  get  into  jail, 
and  wait  for  him  when  he's  brought  off  the  gallows.  Lots 
have  done  it,  though  perhaps  not  such  pretty  women  as 
you.  I  used  to  send  dozens  for  skin  complaints.  But 
that  was  in  former  times.  The  last  I  sent  was  in  '13— 
near  twenty  years  ago." 

He  had  no  more  to  tell  her;  and,  when  he  had  put  her 
into  a  straight  track  homeward,  turned  and  left  her,  re 
fusing  all  money,  as  at  first. 


VII. 

A   RIDE. 

THE  communication  sank  deep  into  Gertrude's  mind. 
Her  nature  was  rather  a  timid  one;  and  probably  of  all 
remedies  that  the  white  wizard  could  have  suggested  there 
was  not  one  which  would  have  filled  her  with  so  much 
aversion  as  this,  riot  to  speak  of  the  immense  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  its  adoption. 

Casterbridge,  the  county-town,  was  a  dozen  or  fifteen 
miles  off ;  and  though  in  those  days,  when  men  were  exe 
cuted  for  horse-stealing,  arson,  and  burglary,  an  assize  sel 
dom  passed  without  a  hanging,  it  was  not  likely  that  she 
could  get  access  to  the  body  of  the  criminal  unaided.  And 
the  fear  of  her  husband's  anger  made  her  reluctant  to 
breathe  a  word  of  Trendle's  suggestion  to  him  or  to  any 
body  about  him. 

She  did  nothing  for  months,  and  patiently  bore  her  dis 
figurement  as  before.  But  her  woman's  nature,  craving 
for  renewed  love,  through  the  medium  of  renewed  beauty 
(she  was  but  twenty-five),  was  ever  stimulating  her  to  try 


4.8  WESSEX   TALES. 

what,  at  any  rate,  could  hardly  do  her  any  harm.  "  What 
came  by  a  spell  will  go  by  a  spell  surely,"  she  would  say. 
Whenever  her  imagination  pictured  the  act  she  shrank  in 
terror  from  the  possibility  of  it;  then  the  words  of  the 
conjurer,  "It  will  turn  your  blood,"  were  seen  to  be  capa 
ble  of  a  scientific  no  less  than  a  ghastly  interpretation  ; 
the  mastering  desire  returned,  and  urged  her  on  again. 

There  was  at  this  time  but  one  county-paper,  and  that 
her  husband  only  occasionally  borrowed.  Bat  old-fash 
ioned  days  had  old-fashioned  means,  and  news  was  exten 
sively  conveyed  by  word  of  mouth  from  market  to  mar 
ket  or  from  fair  to  fair ;  so  that,  whenever  such  an  event 
as  an  execution  was  about  to  take  place,  few  within  a  ra 
dius  of  twenty  miles  were  ignorant  of  the  coming  sight; 
and,  so  far  as  Holmstoke  was  concerned,  some  enthusiasts 
had  been  known  to  walk  all  the  way  to  Casterbridge  and 
back  in  one  day,  solely  to  witness  the  spectacle.  The  next 
assizes  were  in  March ;  and  when  Gertrude  Lodge  heard 
that  they  had  been  held,  she  inquired  stealthily  at  the  inn 
as  to  the  result,  as  soon  as  she  could  find  opportunity. 

She  was,  however,  too  late.  The  time  at  which  the 
sentences  were  to  be  carried  out  had  arrived,  and  to  make 
the  journey  and  obtain  admission  at  such  short  notice  re 
quired  at  least  her  husband's  assistance.  She  dared  not 
tell  him,  for  she  had  found  by  delicate  experiment  that 
these  smouldering  village  beliefs  made  him  furious  if 
mentioned,  partly  because  he  half  entertained  them  him 
self.  It  was  therefore  necessary  to  wait  for  another  op 
portunity. 

Her  determination  received  a  fillip  from  learning  that 
two  epileptic  children  had  attended  from  this  very  village 
of  Holmstoke  many  years  before  with  beneficial  results, 
though  the  experiment  had  been  strongly  condemned  by 
the  neighboring  clergy.  April,  May,  June  passed;  and 
it  is  no  overstatement  to  say  that  by  the  end  of  the  last- 
named  month  Gertrude  wellnigh  longed  for  the  death  of 
a  fellow-creature. 

Instead  of  her  formal  prayers  each  night,  her  uncon- 


THE  WITHERED  ARM.  49 

scions  prayer  was,  "  O  Lord,  bang  some  guilty  or  innocent 
person  soon  !  This  time  she  made  earlier  inquiries,  and 
was  altogether  more  systematic  in  her  proceedings.  More 
over,  the  season  was  summer,  between  the  haymaking  and 
the  harvest,  and  in  the  leisure  thus  afforded  her  husband 
had  been  holiday-taking  away  from  home. 

The  assizes  were  in  July,  and  she  went  to  the  inn  as 
before.  There  was  to  be  one  execution — only  one,  for 
arson. 

Her  greatest  problem  was  not  how  to  get  to  Caster- 
bridge,  but  what  means  she  should  adopt  for  obtaining 
admission  to  the  jail.  Though  access  for  such  purposes 
had  formerly  never  been  denied,  the  custom  had  fallen 
into  desuetude ;  and  in  contemplating  her  possible  difficul 
ties,  she  was  again  almost  driven  to  fall  back  upon  her 
husband.  But,  on  sounding  him  about  the  assizes,  he  was 
so  uncommunicative,  so  more  than  usually  cold,  that  she 
did  not  proceed,  and  decided  that  whatever  she  did  she 
would  do  alone. 

Fortune,  obdurate  hitherto,  showed  her  unexpected  fa 
vor.  On  the  Thursday  before  the  Saturday  fixed  for  the 
execution,  Lodge  remarked  to  her  that  he  was  going  away 
from  home  for  another  day  or  two  on  business  at  a  fair, 
and  that  he  was  sorry  he  could  not  take  her  with  him. 

She  exhibited  on  this  occasion  so  much  readiness  to  stay 
at  home  that  he  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Time  had  been 
when  she  would  have  shown  deep  disappointment  at  the 
loss  of  such  a  jaunt.  However,  he  lapsed  into  his  usual 
taciturnity,  and  on  the  day  named  left  Holmstoke. 

It  was  now  her  turn.  She  at  first  had  thought  of  driv 
ing,  but  on  reflection  held  that  driving  would  not  do, 
since  it  would  necessitate  her  keeping  to  the  turnpike- 
road,  and  so  increase  by  tenfold  the  risk  of  her  ghastly 
errand  being  found  out.  She  decided  to  ride,  and  avoid 
the  beaten  track,  notwithstanding  that  in  her  husband's 
stables  there  was  no  animal  just  at  present  which  by  any 
stretch  of  imagination  could  be  considered  a  lady's  mount, 
in  spite  of  his  promise  before  marriage  to  always  keep  a 


50  WESSEX  TALES. 

mare  for  her.  He  had,  however,  many  horses,  fine  ones 
of  their  kind  ;  and  among  the  rest  was  a  serviceable  creat 
ure,  an  equine  Amazon,  with  a  back  as  broad  as  a  sofa,  on 
which  Gertrude  had  occasionally  taken  an  airing  when 
unwell.  This  horse  she  chose. 

On  Friday  afternoon  one  of  the  men  brought  it  round. 
She  was  dressed,  and  before  going  down  looked  at  her 
shrivelled  arm.  "  Ah  !"  she  said  to  it,  "  if  it  had  not  been 
for  you  this  terrible  ordeal  would  have  been  saved  me !" 

When  strapping  up  the  bundle  in  which  she  carried  a 
few  articles  of  clothing,  she  took  occasion  to  say  to  the 
servant,  "I  take  these  in  case  I  should  not  get  back  to 
night  from  the  person  I  am  going  to  visit.  Don't  be 
alarmed  if  I  am  not  in  by  ten,  and  close  up  the  house  as 
usual.  I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow  for  certain."  She 
meant  then  to  privately  tell  her  husband ;  the  deed  ac 
complished  was  not  like  the  deed  projected.  He  would 
almost  certainly  forgive  her. 

And  then  the  pretty  palpitating  Gertrude  Lodge  went 
from  her  husband's  homestead ;  but  though  her  goal  was 
Casterbridge,  she  did  not  take  the  direct  route  thither 
through  Stickleford.  Her  cunning  course  at  first  was  in 
precisely  the  opposite  direction.  As  soon  as  she  was  out 
of  sight,  however,  she  turned  to  the  left,  by  a  road  which 
led  into  Egdon,  and  on  entering  the  heath  wheeled  round, 
and  set  out  in  the  true  course,  due  westerly.  A  more 
private  way  down  the  county  could  not  be  imagined  ;  and 
as  to  direction,  she  had  merely  to  keep  her  horse's  head 
to  a  point  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  sun.  She  knew  that 
she  would  light  upon  a  furze-cutter  or  cottager  of  some 
sort  from  time  to  time,  from  whom  she  might  correct  her 
bearing. 

Though  the  date  was  comparatively  recent,  Egdon  was 
much  less  fragmentary  in  character  than  now.  The  at 
tempts — successful  and  otherwise — at  cultivation  on  the 
lower  slopes,  which  intrude  and  break  up  the  original 
heath  into  small  detached  heaths,  had  not  been  carried 
far;  Enclosure  Acts  had  not  taken  effect,  and  the  banks 


THE   WITHERED   ARM.  51 

and  fences  which  now  exclude  the  cattle  of  those  villagers 
who  formerly  enjoyed  rights  of  commonage  thereon,  and 
the  carts  of  those  who  had  turbary  privileges  which  kept 
them  in  firing  all  the  year  round,  were  riot  erected.  Ger 
trude  therefore  rode  along  with  no  other  obstacles  than 
the  prickly  furze-bushes,  the  mats  of  heather,  the  white 
watercourses,  and  the  natural  steeps  and  declivities  of  the 
ground. 

Her  horse  was  sure,  if  heavy-footed  and  slow,  and 
though  a  draught  animal,  was  easy- paced;  had  it  been 
otherwise,  she  was  not  a  woman  who  could  have  ventured 
to  ride  over  such  a  bit  of  country  with  a  half-dead  arm. 
It  was  therefore  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  she  drew  rein 
to  breathe  the  mare  on  the  last  outlying  high  point  of 
heath-land  towards  Casterbridge,  previous  to  leaving  Eg- 
don  for  the  cultivated  valleys. 

She  halted  before  a  pond  flanked  by  the  ends  of  two 
hedges ;  a  railing  ran  through  the  centre  of  the  pond, 
dividing  it  in  half.  Over  the  railing  she  saw  the  low 
green  country  ;  over  the  green  trees  the  roofs  of  the  town  ; 
over  the  roofs  a  white,  flat  facade,  denoting  the  entrance 
to  the  county-jail.  On  the  roof  of  this  front  specks  were 
moving  about ;  they  seemed  to  be  workmen  erecting  some 
thing.  Her  flesh  crept.  She  descended  slowly,  and  was 
soon  amid  cornfields  and  pastures.  In  another  half-hour, 
when  it  was  almost  dusk,  Gertrude  reached  the  White 
Hart,  the  first  inn  of  the  town  on  that  side. 

Little  surprise  was  excited  by  her  arrival :  farmers' 
wives  rode  on  horseback  then  more  than  they  do  now — 
though,  for  that  matter,  Mrs.  Lodge  was  not  imagined  to 
be  a  wife  at  all ;  the  inn-keeper  supposed  her  some  harum- 
scarum  young  woman  who  had  come  to  attend  "  hang-fair" 
next  day.  Neither  her  husband  nor  herself  ever  dealt  in 
Casterbridge  market,  so  that  she  was  unknown.  While 
dismounting  she  beheld  a  crowd  of  boys  standing  at  the 
door  of  a  harness-maker's  shop  just  above  the  inn,  looking 
inside  it  with  deep  interest. 

"  What  is  going  on  there  ?"  she  asked  of  the  hostler. 


52  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Making  the  rope  for  to-morrow." 

She  throbbed  responsively,  and  contracted  her  arm. 

"'Tis  sold  by  the  inch  afterwards,"  the  man  continued. 
"I  could  get  you  a  bit,  miss,  for  nothing, if  you'd  like?" 

She  hastily  repudiated  any  such  wish,  all  the  more  from 
a  curious  creeping  feeling  that  the  condemned  wretch's 
destiny  was  becoming  interwoven  with  her  own ;  and 
having  engaged  a  room  for  the  night,  sat  down  to  think. 

Up  to  this  time  she  had  formed  but  the  vaguest  notions 
about  her  means  of  obtaining  access  to  the  prison.  The 
words  of  the  cunning  man  returned  to  her  mind.  He  had 
implied  that  she  should  use  her  beauty,  impaired  though 
it  was,  as  a  pass-key.  In  her  inexperience  she  knew  little 
about  jail  functionaries;  she  had  heard  of  a  high-sheriff 
and  an  under-sheriff,  but  dimly  only.  She  knew,  how 
ever,  that  there  must  be  a  hangman,  and  to  the  hangman 
she  determined  to  apply. 


VIII. 

A  WATER-SIDE  HERMIT. 

AT  this  date,  and  for  several  years  after,  there  was  a 
hangman  to  almost  every  jail.  Gertrude  found,  on  in 
quiry,  that  the  Casterbridge  official  dwelt  in  a  lonely  cot 
tage  by  a  deep,  slow  river  flowing  under  the  cliff  on  which 
the  prison  buildings  were  situate — the  stream  being  the 
self-same  one,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  which  watered 
the  Stickleford  and  Holmstoke  meads  lower  down  in  its 
course. 

Having  changed  her  dress,  and  before  she  had  eaten  or 
drunk — for  she  could  not  take  her  ease  till  she  had  ascer 
tained  some  particulars — Gertrude  pursued  her  way  by  a 
path  along  the  water-side  to  the  cottage  indicated.  Pass 
ing  thus  the  outskirts  of  the  jail,  she  discerned  on  the 
level  roof  over  the  gate-way  three  rectangular  lines  against 


THE  WITHERED   ARM.  53 

the  sky,  where  the  specks  had  been  moving  in  her  distant 
view ;  she  recognized  what  the  erection  was,  and  passed 
quickly  on.  Another  hundred  yards  brought  her  to  the 
executioner's  house,  which  a  boy  pointed  out.  It  stood 
close  to  the  same  stream,  and  was  hard  by  a  weir,  the 
waters  of  which  emitted  a  steady  roar. 

While  she  stood  hesitating,  the  door  opened  and  an  old 
man  came  forth,  shading  a  candle  with  one  hand.  Lock 
ing  the  door  on  the  outside,  he  turned  to  a  flight  of 
wooden  steps  fixed  against  the  end  of  the  cottage,  and 
began  to  ascend  them,  this  being  evidently  the  staircase 
to  his  bedroom.  Gertrude  hastened  forward,  but  by  the 
time  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  ladder  lie  was  at  the  top. 
She  called  to  him  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  above  the 
roar  of  the  weir;  he  looked  down  and  said,  "What  d'ye 
want  here?" 

"  To  speak  to  you  a  minute." 

The  candlelight,  such  as  it  was,  fell  upon  her  implor 
ing,  pale,  upturned  face,  and  Davies  (as  the  hangman  was 
called)  backed  down  the  ladder.  "I  was  just  going  to 
bed,"  he  said;  "'Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise,'  but  I 
don't  mind  stopping  a  minute  for  such  a  one  as  you. 
Come  into  the  house."  He  reopened  the  door,  and  pre 
ceded  her  to  the  room  within. 

The  implements  of  his  daily  work,  which  was  that  of  a 
jobbing  gardener,  stood  in  a  corner,  and  seeing  probably 
that  she  looked  rural,  he  said, "  If  you  want  me  to  under 
take  country  work  I  can't  come,  for  I  never  leave  Caster- 
bridge  for  gentle  nor  simple — not  I.  Though  sometimes 
I  make  others  leave,"  he  added,  formally. 

"  Yes,  yes !     That's  it !     To-morrow !" 

"Ah!  I  thought  so.  Well,  what's  the  matter  about 
that?  'Tis  no  use  to  come  here  about  the  knot — folks  do 
come  continually,  but  I  tell  'em  one  knot  is  as  merciful  as 
another  if  ye  keep  it  under  the  ear.  Is  the  unfortunate 
man  a  relation  ;  or,  I  should  say,  perhaps  "  (looking  at  her 
dress),  "  a  person  who's  been  in  your  employ  ?" 

"No.     What  time  is  the  execution?" 


54  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  The  same  as  usual — twelve  o'clock,  or  as  soon  after  as 
the  London  mail-coach  gets  in.  We  always  wait  for  that, 
in  case  of  a  reprieve." 

"Oh — a  reprieve — I  hope  not!"  she  said,  involuntarily. 

"  Well — he,  he ! — as  a  matter  of  business,  so  do  I !  But 
still,  if  ever  a  young  fellow  deserved  to  be  let  off,  this 
one  does;  only  just  turned  eighteen,  and  only  present  by 
chance  when  the  rick  was  fired.  Howsomever,  there's  not 
much  risk  of  it,  as  they  are  obliged  to  make  an  example 
of  him,  there  having  been  so  much  destruction  of  property 
that  way  lately." 

"I  mean,"  she  explained, " that  I  want  to  touch  him 
for  a  charm,  a  cure  of  an  affliction,  by  the  advice  of  a  man 
who  has  proved  the  virtue  of  the  remedy."  „ 

"Oh  yes,  miss!  Now  I  understand.  I've  had  such 
people  come  in  past  years.  But  it  didn't  strike  me  that 
you  looked  of  a  sort  to  require  blood-turning.  What's 
the  complaint?  The  wrong  kind  for  this,  I'll  be  bound." 

"My  arm."    She  reluctantly  showed  the  withered  skin. 

"Ah!  'tis  all  a -scram!"  said  the  hangman,  examin 
ing  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  with  interest,  "  that  is  the  class 
o'  subject,  I'm  bound  to  admit!  I  like  the  look  of  the 
place;  it  is  truly  as  suitable  for  the  cure  as  any  I  ever 
saw.  'Twas  a  knowing  man  that  sent  'ee,  whoever  he  was." 

"  You  can  contrive  for  me  all  that's  necessary  ?"  she 
said,  breathlessly. 

"  You  should  really  have  gone  to  the  governor  of  the 
jail,  and  your  doctor  with  'ee,  and  given  your  name  and 
address — that's  how  it  used  to  be  done,  if  I  recollect. 
Still,  perhaps  I  can  manage  it  for  a  trifling  fee." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  would  rather  do  it  this  way,  as  I 
should  like  it  kept  private." 

"  Lover  not  to  know,  eh  ?" 

"No— husband." 

"Aha!    Yery  well.    I'll  get  'ee  a  touch  of  the  corpse." 

"  Where  is  it  now  ?"  she  said,  shuddering. 


THE   WITHERED  ARM.  55 

"  It  ? — he,  you  mean  ;  he's  living  yet.  Just  inside  that 
little  small  winder  up  there  in  the  glum."  He  signified 
the  jail  on  the  cliff  above. 

She  thought  of  her  husband  and  her  friends.  "Yes, 
of  course,"  she  said  ;  "  and  how  am  I  to  proceed  ?" 

He  took  her  to  the  door.  "Now,  do  you  be  waiting  at 
the  little  wicket  in  the  wall,  that  you'll  find  up  there  in 
the  lane,  not  later  than  one  o'clock.  I  will  open  it  from 
the  inside,  as  I  sha'n't  come  home  to  dinner  till  he's  cut 
down.  Good-night.  Be  punctual ;  and  if  you  don't  want 
anybody  to  know  'ee,  wear  a  veil.  Ah,  once  I  had  such  a 
daughter  as  you  !" 

She  went  away,  and  climbed  the  path  above,  to  assure 
herself  that  she  would  be  able  to  find  the  wicket  next 
tlay.  Its  outline  was  soon  visible  to  her — a  narrow  open 
ing  in  the  outer  wall  of  the  prison  precincts.  The  steep 
was  so  great  that,  having  reached  the  wicket,  she  stopped 
a  moment  to  breathe ;  and  looking  back  upon  the  water 
side  cot,  saw  the  hangman  again  ascending  his  out-door 
staircase.  He  entered  the  loft,  or  chamber,  to  which  it  led, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  extinguished  his  light. 

The  town  clock  struck  ten,  and  she  returned  to  the 
White  Hart  as  she  had  come. 


IX. 

A  RENCOUNTER. 

IT  was  one  o'clock  on  Saturday.  Gertrude  Lodge,  hav 
ing  been  admitted  to  the  jail  as  above  described,  was  sit 
ting  in  a  waiting-room  within  the  second  gate,  which  stood 
under  a  classic  archway  of  ashler,  then  comparatively  mod 
ern,  and  bearing  the  inscription,  "COVNTY  JAIL:  1793." 
This  had  been  the  fagade  she  saw  from  the  heath  the  day 
before.  Near  at  hand  was  a  passage  to  the  roof  on  which 
the  gallows  stood. 

The  town  was  thronged,  and  the  market  suspended; 


56  WESSEX  TALES. 

but  Gertrude  had  seen  scarcely  a  soul.  Having  kept  her 
room  till  the  hour  of  the  appointment,  she  had  proceeded 
to  the  spot  by  a  way  which  avoided  the  open  space  below 
the  cliff  where  the  spectators  had  gathered  ;  but  she  could, 
even  now,  hear  the  multitudinous  babble  of  their  voices, 
out  of  which  rose  at  intervals  the  hoarse  croak  of  a  single 
voice,  uttering  the  words,  "  Last  dying  speech  and  confes 
sion  !"  There  had  been  no  reprieve,  and  the  execution 
was  over;  but  the  crowd  still  waited  to  see  the  body  taken 
down. 

Soon  the  persistent  girl  heard  a  trampling  overhead, 
then  a  hand  beckoned  to  her,  and,  following  directions, 
she  went  out  and  crossed  the  inner  paved  court  beyond 
the  gate -house,  her  knees  trembling  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  walk.  One  of  her  arms  was  out  of  its  sleeve, 
and  only  covered  by  her  shawl. 

On  the  spot  to  which  she  had  now  arrived  were  two 
trestles,  and  before  she  could  think  of  their  purpose  she 
heard  heavy  feet  descending  stairs  somewhere  at  her  back. 
Turn  her  head  she  would  not,  or  could  not,  and,  rigid  in 
this  position,  she  was  conscious  of  a  rough  coffin  passing 
her  shoulder,  borne  by  four  men.  It  was  open,  and  in  it 
lay  the  body  of  a  young  man,  wearing  the  smock-frock  of 
a  rustic,  and  fustian  breeches.  It  had  been  thrown  into 
the  coffin  so  hastily  that  the  skirt  of  the  smock-frock  was 
hanging  over.  The  burden  was  temporarily  deposited  on 
the  trestles. 

By  this  time  the  young  woman's  state  was  such  that  a 
gray  mist  seemed  to  float  before  her  eyes,  on  account  of 
which,  and  the  veil  she  wore,  she  could  scarcely  discern 
anything;  it  was  as  though  she  had  died  but  was  held  up 
by  a  sort  of  galvanism. 

"Now,"  said  a  voice  close  at  hand,  and  she  was  just 
conscious  that  it  had  been  addressed  to  her. 

By  a  last  strenuous  effort  she  advanced,  at  the  same 
time  hearing  persons  approaching  behind  her.  She  bared 
her  poor  cursed  arm ;  and  Davies,  uncovering  the  dead 
man's  face,  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  so  that  the  arm  lay 


THE  WITHERED   ARM.  57 

across  the  neck  of  the  corpse,  upon  a  lino  the  color  of  an 
unripe  blackberry  which  surrounded  it. 

Gertrude  shrieked ;  "  the  turn  o'  the  blood,"  predicted 
by  the  conjurer,  had  taken  place.  But  at  that  moment  a 
second  shriek  rent  the  air  of  the  enclosure:  it  was  not 
Gertrude's,  and  its  effect  upon  her  was  to  make  her  start 
round. 

Immediately  behind  her  stood  Rhoda  Brook,  her  face 
drawn,  and  her  ejres  red  with  weeping.  Behind  Rhoda 
stood  her  own  husband ;  his  countenance  lined,  his  eyes 
dim,  but  without  a  tear. 

"  D n  you !  what  are  you  doing  here  ?"  he  said, 

hoarsely. 

"  Hussy — to  come  between  us  and  our  child  now  !"  cried 
Rhoda.  "  This  is  the  meaning  of  what  Satan  showed  me 
in  the  vision!  You  are  like  her  at  last!"  And  clutch 
ing  the  bare  arm  of  the  younger  woman,  she  pulled  her 
unresistingly  back  against  the  wall.  Immediately  Brook 
had  loosened  her  hold  the  fragile  young  Gertrude  slid 
down  against  the  feet  of  her  husband.  When  he  lifted 
her  up  she  was  unconscious. 

The  mere  sight  of  the  twain  had  been  enough  to  sug 
gest  to  her  that  the  dead  young  man  was  Rhoda' s  son. 
At  that  time  the  relatives  of  an  executed  convict  had  the 
privilege  of  claiming  the  body  for  burial,  if  they  chose  to 
do  so ;  and  it  was  for  this  purpose  that  Lodge  was  await 
ing  the  inquest  with  Rhoda.  He  had  been  summoned 
by  her  as  soon  as  the  young  man  was  taken  in  the  crime, 
and  at  different  times  since ;  and  he  had  attended  in  court 
during  the  trial.  This  was  the  "holiday"  he  had  been 
indulging  in  of  late.  The  two  wretched  parents  had 
wished  to  avoid  exposure ;  and  hence  had  come  them 
selves  for  the  body,  a  wagon- and  a  sheet  for  its  convey 
ance  and  covering  being  in  waiting  outside. 

Gertrude's  case  was  so  serious  that  it  was  deemed  ad 
visable  to  call  to  her  the  surgeon  who  was  at  hand.  She 
was  taken  out  of  the  jail  into  the  town ;  but  she  never 
reached  home  alive.  Her  delicate  vitality,  sapped  per- 


58  WESSEX  TALES. 

haps  by  the  paralyzed  arm,  collapsed  under  the  double 
shock  that  followed  the  severe  strain,  physical  and  mental, 
to  which  she  had  subjected  herself  during  the  previous 
twenty -four  hours.  Her  blood  had  been  "turned  "in 
deed — too  far.  Her  death  took  place  in  the  town  three 
days  after. 

Her  husband  was  never  seen  in  Casterbridge  again  ; 
once  only  in  the  old  market -place  at  Anglebury,  which 
he  had  so  much  frequented,  and  very  seldom  in  public 
anywhere.  Burdened  at  first  with  rnoodiness  and  re 
morse,  he  eventually  changed  for  the  better,  and  appeared 
as  a  chastened  and  thoughtful  man.  Soon  after  attend 
ing  the  funeral  of  his  poor  young  wife,  lie  took  steps  tow 
ards  giving  up  the  farms  in  Holrnstoke  and  the  adjoining 
parish,  and,  having  sold  every  head  of  his  stock,  he  went 
away  to  Port-Bred}7,  at  the  other  end  of  the  county,  living 
there  in  solitary  lodgings  till  his  death,  two  years  later, 
of  a  painless  decline.  It  was  then  found  that  he  had 
bequeathed  the  whole  of  his  not  inconsiderable  property 
to  a  reformatory  for  boys,  subject  to  the  payment  of  a 
small  annuity  to  Ehoda  Brook,  if  she  could  be  found  to 
claim  it. 

For  some  time  she  could  not  be  found ;  but  eventually 
she  reappeared  in  her  old  parish — absolutely  refusing,  how 
ever,  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  provision  made  for 
her.  Her  monotonous  milking  at  the  dairy  was  resumed, 
,  and  followed  for  many  long  years,  till  her  form  became 
bent,  and  her  once  abundant  dark  hair  white  and  worn 
away  at  the  forehead — perhaps  by  long  pressure  against 
the  cows.  Here,  sometimes,  those  who  knew  her  expe 
riences  would  stand  and  observe  her,  and  wonder  what 
sombre  thoughts  were  beating  inside  that  impassive,  wrin 
kled  brow,  to  the  rhythm  of  the  alternating  milk-streams. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN. 


i. 

THE  shepherd  on  the  east  hill  could  shout  out  lambing 
intelligence  to  the  shepherd  on  the  west  hill,  over  the 
intervening  town  chimneys,  without  great  inconvenience 
to  his  voice,  so  nearly  did  the  steep  pastures  encroach 
upon  the  burghers'  back-yards.  And  at  night  it  was  pos 
sible  to  stand  in  the  very  midst  of  the  town  and  hear 
from  their  native  paddocks  on  the  lower  levels  of  green 
sward  the  mild  lowing  of  the  farmers'  heifers,  and  the 
profound,  warm  blowings  of  breath  in  which  those  creat 
ures  indulge.  But  the  community  which  had  jammed 
itself  in  the  valley  thus  flanked  formed  a  veritable  town, 
with  a  real  mayor  and  corporation,  and  a  staple  manu 
facture. 

During  a  certain  damp  evening  five-and-thirty  years 
ago,  before  the  twilight  was  far  advanced,  a  pedestrian  of 
professional  appearance,  carrying  a  small  bag  in  his  hand 
and  an  elevated  umbrella,  was  descending  one  of  these 
hills  by  the  turnpike-road  when  he  was  overtaken  by  a 
phaeton. 

"Holloa,  Downe !  is  that  you?"  said  the  driver  of  the 
vehicle,  a  young  man  of  pale  and  refined  appearance. 
"Jump  up  here  with  me,  and  ride  down  to  your  door." 

The  other  turned  a  plump,  cheery,  rather  self-indulgent 
face  over  his  shoulder  towards  the  hailer. 

"Oh,  good-evening,  Mr.  Barnet !  thanks,"  he  said,  and 
mounted  beside  his  acquaintance. 


60  WESSEX  TALES. 

They  were  fellow-bnrgesses  of  the  town  which  lay  be 
neath  them,  but  though  old  and  very  good  friends,  they 
were  differently  circumstanced.  Barnet  was  a  richer  man 
than  the  struggling  young  lawyer  Downe — a  fact  which 
was  to  some  extent  perceptible  in  Downe's  manner  tow 
ards  his  companion,  though  nothing  of  it  ever  showed  in 
Barnet's  manner  towards  the  solicitor.  Barnet's  position 
in  the  town  was  none  of  his  own  making ;  his  father  had 
been  a  very  successful  flax  merchant  in  the  same  place, 
where  the  trade  was  still  carried  on  as  briskly  as  the 
small  capacities  of  its  quarters  would  allow.  Having  ac 
quired  a  fair  fortune,  old  Mr.  Barnet  had  retired  from 
business,  bringing  up  his  son  as  a  gentleman-burgher,  and, 
it  must  be  added,  as  a  well-educated,  liberal-minded  young 
man. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Barnet  ?"  asked  Downe. 

"  Mrs.  Barnet  was  very  well  when  I  left  home,"  the 
other  answered,  constrainedly,  exchanging  his  meditative 
regard  of  the  horse  for  one  of  self-consciousness. 

Mr.  Downe  seemed  to  regret  his  inquiry,  and  imme 
diately  took  up  another  thread  of  conversation.  He  con 
gratulated  his  friend  on  his  election  as  a  councilman  ;  he 
thought  he  had  not  seen  him  since  that  event  took  place; 
Mrs.  Downe  had  meant  to  call  and  congratulate  Mrs.  Bar- 
net,  but  he  feared  that  she  had  failed  to  do  so  as  yet. 

Barnet  seemed  hampered  in  his  replies.  "  We  should 
have  been  glad  to  see  you.  I — my  wife  would  welcome 
Mrs.  Downe  at  any  time,  as  you  know.  .  '.  .  Yes,  I  am  a 
member  of  the  corporation  —  rather  an  inexperienced 
member,  some  of  them  say.  It  is  quite  true  ;  and  I  should 
have  declined  the  honor  as  premature — having  other  things 
on  my  hands  just  now,  too — if  it  had  not  been  pressed 
upon  me  so  very  heartily." 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  have  on  your  hands  which  I 
can  never  quite  see  the  necessity  for,"  said  Downe,  with 
good-humored  freedom.  "What  the  deuce  do  you  want 
to  build  that  new  mansion  for,  when  you  have  already  got 
such  an  excellent  house  as  the  one  you  live  in  ?" 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  61 

Barnet's  face  acquired  a  warmer  shade  of  color ;  but  as 
the  question  had  been  idly  asked  by  the  solicitor  while 
regarding  the  surrounding  flocks  and  fields,  he  answered 
after  a  moment,  with  no  apparent  embarrassment, 

"  Well,  we  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  town,  you  know ; 
the  house  I  am  living  in  is  rather  old  and  inconvenient." 

Mr.  Downe  declared  that  he  had  chosen  a  pretty  site 
for  the  new  building.  They  would  be  able  to  see  for 
miles  and  miles  from  the  windows.  Was  he  going  to  give 
it  a  name?  he  supposed  so. 

Barnet  thought  not.  There  was  no  other  house  near 
that  was  likely  to  be  mistaken  for  it.  And  he  did  not 
care  for  a  name. 

"  But  I  think  it  has  a  name !"  Downe  observed.  "  I 
went  past — when  was  it  ? — this  morning ;  and  I  saw  some 
thing — '  Chateau  Ringdale,'  I  think  it  was,  stuck  up  on  a 
board !" 

"It  was  an  idea  she — we  had  for  a  short  time,"  said 
Barnet,  hastily.  "  But  we  have  decided  finally  to  do  with 
out  a  name — at  any  rate,  such  a  name  as  that.  It  must 
have  been  a  week  ago  that  you  saw  it.  It  was  taken  down 
last  Saturday.  Upon  that  matter  I  am  firm  !"  he  added, 
grimly. 

Downe  murmured  in  an  unconvinced  tone  that  he 
thought  he  had  seen  it  yesterday. 

Talking  thus,  they  drove  into  the  town.  The  street 
was  unusually  still  for  the  hour  of  seven  in  the  evening; 
an  increasing  drizzle  had  prevailed  since  the  afternoon, 
and  now  formed  a  gauze  across  the  yellow  lamps,  and 
trickled  with  a  gentle  rattle  down  the  heavy  roofs  of 
stone  tile,  that  bent  the  house-ridges  hollow-backed  with 
its  weight,  and  in  some  instances  caused  the  walls  to  bulge 
outward  in  the  upper  story.  Their  route  took  them  past 
the  little  town-hall,  the  Black  Bull  Hotel,  and  onward  to 
the  junction  of  a  small  street  on  the  right,  consisting  of  a 
row  of  those  two-and-two  brick  residences  of  no  particular 
age,  which  are  exactly  alike  wherever  found,  except  in  the 
people  they  contain. 


62  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Wait — I'll  drive  you  up  to  your  door,"  said  Barnet, 
when  Downe  prepared  to  alight  at  the  corner.  He  there 
upon  turned  into  the  narrow  street,  when  the  faces  of 
three  little  girls  could  be  discerned  close  to  the  panes  of  a 
lighted  window  a  few  yards  ahead,  surmounted  by  that  of 
a  young  matron,  the  gaze  of  all  four  being  directed  eager 
ly  up  the  empty  street.  "You  are  a  fortunate  fellow, 
Downe,"  Barnet  continued,  as  mother  and  children  disap 
peared  from  the  window  to  run  to  the  door.  "  You  must 
be  happy  if  any  man  is.  I  would  give  a  hundred  such 
houses  as  my  new  one  to  have  a  home  like  yours." 

"  Well,  yes,  we  get  along  pretty  comfortably,"  replied 
Downe,  complacently. 

"  That  house,  Downe,  is  none  of  my  ordering,"  Barnet 
broke  out,  revealing  a  bitterness  hitherto  suppressed,  and 
checking  the  horse  a  moment  to  finish  his  speech  before 
delivering  up  his  passenger.  "  The  house  I  have  already  is 
good  enough  for  me,  as  you  supposed.  It  is  my  own  free 
hold  ;  it  was  built  by  my  grandfather,  and  is  stout  enough 
for  a  castle.  My  father  was  born  there,  lived  there,  and 
died  there.  I  was  born  there,  and  have  always  lived  there ; 
yet  I  must  needs  build  a  new  one." 

"  Why  do  you  ?"  said  Downe. 

"  Why  do  I  ?  To  preserve  peace  in  the  household.  I 
do  anything  for  that ;  but  I  don't  succeed.  I  was  firm  in 
resisting  'Chateau  Eingdale,'  however;  not  that  I  would 
not  have  put  up  with  the  absurdity  of  the  name,  but  it 
was  too  much  to  have  your  house  christened  after  Lord 
Ringdale,  because  your  wife  once  had  a  fancy  for  him. 
If  you  only  knew  everything,  you  would  think  all  attempt 
at  reconciliation  hopeless.  In  your  happy  home  you  have 
had  no  such  experiences;  and  God  forbid  that  you  ever 
should.  See,  here  they  are  all  ready  to  receive  you  !" 

"  Of  course !  And  so  will  your  wife  be  waiting  to 
receive  you,"  said  Downe.  "Take  my  word  for  it,  she 
will !  And  with  a  dinner  prepared  for  you  far  better  than 
mine." 

"  I  hope  so,"  Barnet  replied,  dubiously. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  63 

He  moved  on  to  Downe's  door,  which  the  solicitor's 
family  had  already  opened.  Downe  descended,  but  being 
encumbered  with  his  bag  and  umbrella,  his  foot  slipped, 
and  he  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  gutter. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Charles !"  said  his  wife,  running  down 
the  steps ;  and,  quite  ignoring  the  presence  of  Barnet, 
she  seized  hold  of  her  husband,  pulled  him  to  his  feet, 
and  kissed  him,  exclaiming,  "I  hope  you  are  not  hurt, 
darling!"  The  children  crowded  round,  chiming  in  pite- 
ouslj7,  "  Poor  papa !" 

"  He's  all  right,"  said  Barnet,  perceiving  that  Downe 
was  only  a  little  muddy,  and  looking  more  at  the  wife 
than  at  the  husband.  Almost  at  any  other  time — cer 
tainly  during  his  fastidious  bachelor  years — he  would 
have  thought  her  a  too  demonstrative  woman  ;  but  those 
recent  circumstances  of  his  own  life  to  which  he  had  just 
alluded  made  Mrs.  Downe's  solicitude  so  affecting  that  his 
eye  grew  damp  as  he  witnessed  it.  Bidding  the  lawyer 
and  his  family  good-night,  he  left  them,  arid  drove  slowly 
into  the  main  street  towards  his  own  house. 

The  heart  of  Barnet  was  sufficiently  impressionable  to 
be  influenced  by  Downe's  parting  prophecy  that  he  might 
not  be  so  unwelcome  home  as  he  imagined;  the  dreary 
night  might,  at  least  on  this  one  occasion,  make  Downe's 
forecast  true.  Hence  it  was  in  a  suspense  that  he  could 
hardly  have  believed  possible  that  he  halted  at  his  door. 
On  entering,  his  wife  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  he  in 
quired  for  her.  The  servant  informed  him  that  her  mis 
tress  had  the  dress-maker  with  her,  and  would  be  engaged 
for  some  time. 

"  Dress-maker  at  this  time  of  day !"" 

"  She  dined  early,  sir,  and  hopes  you  will  excuse  her 
joining  you  this  evening." 

"  But  she  knew  I  was  coming  to-night?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  Go  up  and  tell  her  I  am  come." 

The  servant  did  so ;  but  the  mistress  of  the  house 
merely  repeated  her  former  words. 


64:  WESSEX  TALES. 

Barnet  Said  nothing  more,  and  presently  sat  down  to 
his  lonely  meal,  which  was  eaten  abstractedly,  the  domestic 
scene  he  had  lately  witnessed  still  impressing  him  by  its 
contrast  with  the  situation  here.  His  mind  fell  back  into 
past  years  upon  a  certain  pleasing  and  gentle  being  whose 
face  would  loom  out  of  their  shades  at  such  times  as  these. 
Barnet  turned  in  his  chair,  and  looked  with  unfocused 
eyes  in  a  direction  southward  from  where  he  sat,  as  if  he 
saw  not  the  room,  but  a  long  way  beyond.  "I  wonder  if 
she  lives  there  still !"  he  said. 


II. 

HE  rose  with  a  sudden  rebelliousness,  put  on  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  went  out  of  the  house,  pursuing  his  way 
along  the  glistening  pavement  while  eight  o'clock  was 
striking  from  St.  Mary's  tower,  and  the  apprentices  and 
shopmen  were  slamming  up  the  shutters  from  end  to  end 
of  the  town.  In  two  minutes  only  those  shops  which 
could  boast  of  no  attendant  save  the  master  or  the  mis 
tress  remained  with  open  eyes.  These  were  ever  some 
what  less  prompt  to  exclude  customers  than  the  others; 
for  their  owners'  ears  the  closing-hour  had  scarcely  the 
cheerfulness  that  it  possessed  for  the  hired  servants  of 
the  rest.  Yet,  the  night  being  dreary,  the  delay  was  not 
for  long,  and  their  windows,  too,  blinked  together  one  by 
one. 

During  this  time  Barnet  had  proceeded  with  decided 
step  in  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  the  broad  main  thor 
oughfare  of  the  town,  by  a  long  street  leading  due  south 
ward.  Here,  though  his  family  had  no  more  to  do  with 
the  flax  manufacture,  his  own  name  occasionally  greeted 
him  on  gates  and  warehouses,  being  used  allusively  by 
small  rising  tradesmen  as  a  recommendation,  in  such 
words  as  "Smith,  from  Barnet  &  Co." — "Kobinson,  late 
manager  at  Barnet's."  The  sight  led  him  to  reflect  upon 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  65 

his  father's  busy  life,  and  he  questioned  if  it  had  not  been 
far  happier  than  his  own. 

The  houses  along  the  road  became  fewer,  and  presently 
open  ground  appeared  between  them  on  either  side,  the 
tract  on  the  right  hand  rising  to  a  higher  level  till  it 
merged  in  a  knoll.  On  the  summit  a  row  of  builders' 
scaffold-poles  probed  the  indistinct  sky  like  spears,  and  at 
their  bases  could  be  discerned  the  lower  courses  of  a  build 
ing  lately  begun.  Barnet  slackened  his  pace  and  stood 
for  a  few  moments  without  leaving  the  centre  of  the  road, 
apparently  not  much  interested  in  the  sight,  till  suddenly 
his  eye  was  caught  by  a  post  in  the  fore  part  of  the 
ground,  bearing  a  white  board  at  the  top.  He  went  to 
the  rails,  vaulted  over,  and  walked  in  far  enough  to  dis 
cern  painted  upon  the  board, "  Chateau  Kingdale." 

A  dismal  irony  seemed  to  lie  in  the  words,  and  its  effect 
was  to  irritate  him.  Downe,  then,  had  spoken  truly.  He 
stuck  his  umbrella  into  the  sod,  and  seized  the  post  with 
both  hands,  as  if  intending  to  loosen  and  throw  it  down. 
Then,  like  one  bewildered  by  an  opposition  which  would 
exist  none  the  less  though  its  manifestations  were  re 
moved,  he  allowed  his  arms  to  sink  to  his  side. 

"Let  it  be," he  said  to  himself.  "I  have  declared  there 
shall  be  peace — if  possible." 

Taking  up  his  umbrella,  he  quietly  left  the  enclosure, 
and  went  on  his  way,  still  keeping  his  back  to  the  town. 
He  had  advanced  with  more  decision  since  passing  the 
new  building,  and  soon  a  hoarse  murmur  rose  upon  the 
gloom  ;  it  was  the  sound  of  the  sea.  The  road  led  to  the 
harbor,  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  from  the  town,  from  which 
the  trade  of  the  district  was  fed.  After  seeing  the  ob 
noxious  name-board,  Barnet  had  forgotten  to  open  his 
umbrella,  and  the  rain  tapped  smartly  on  his  hat,  and  oc 
casionally  stroked  his  face  as  he  went  on. 

Though  the  lamps  were  still  continued  at  the  road-side, 
they  stood  at  wider  intervals  than  before,  and  the  pave 
ment  had  given  place  to  common  road.  Every  time  he 
came  to  a  lamp  an  increasing  shine  made  itself  visible 
5 


66  W ESSEX   TALES. 

upon  his  shoulders,  till  at  last  they  quite  glistened  with 
wet.  The  murmur  from  the  shore  grew  stronger,  but  it 
was  still  some  distance  off  when  he  paused  before  one  of 
the  smallest  of  the  detached  houses  by  the  way-side,  stand 
ing  in  its  own  garden,  the  latter  being  divided  from  the 
road  by  a  row  of  wooden  palings.  Scrutinizing  the  spot 
to  insure  that  he  was  not  mistaken,  he  opened  the  gate 
and  gently  knocked  at  the  cottage  door. 

When  he  had  patiently  waited  minutes  enough  to  lead 
any  man  in  ordinary  cases  to  knock  again,  the  door  was 
heard  to  open ;  though  it  was  impossible  to  see  by  whose 
hand,  there  being  no  light  in  the  passage.  Barnet  said  at 
random,  "Does  Miss  Savile  live  here?" 

A  youthful  voice  assured  him  that  she  did  live  there, 
and  by  a  sudden  after-thought  asked  him  to  come  in.  It 
would  soon  get  a  light,  it  said  ;  but  the  night  being  wet, 
mother  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  trim  the  passage 
lamp. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  to  get  a  light  for  me,"  said 
Barnet,  hastily ;  "  it  is  not  necessary  at  all.  Which  is 
Miss  Savile's  sitting-room  ?" 

The  young  person,  whose  white  pinafore  could  just  be 
discerned,  signified  a  door  in  the  side  of  the  passage,  and 
Barnet  went  forward  at  the  same  moment,  so  that  no  light 
should  fall  upon  his  face.  On  entering  the  room  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  pausing  till  he  heard  the  retreating 
footsteps  of  the  child. 

He  found  himself  in  an  apartment  which  was  simply 
and  neatly,  though  not  poorly  furnished;  everything, 
from  the  miniature  chiffonier  to  the  shining  -little  daguer 
reotype  which  formed  the  central  ornament  of  the  man 
tle-piece,  being  in  scrupulous  order.  The  picture  was  en 
closed  by  a  frame  of  embroidered  card-board — evidently 
the  work  of  feminine  hands — and  it  represented  a  thin- 
faced,  elderly  lieutenant  in  the  navy.  From  behind  the 
lamp  on  the  table  a  female  form  now  rose  into  view :  it 
was  that  of  a  young  girl,  and  a  resemblance  between  her 
and  the  portrait  was  early  discoverable.  She  had  been  so 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  67 

absorbed  in  some  occupation  on  the  other  side  of  the  lamp 
as  to  have  barely  found  time  to  realize  her  visitor's  pres 
ence. 

They  both  remained  standing  for  a  few  seconds  with 
out  speaking.  The  face  that  confronted  Barnet  had  a 
beautiful  outline;  the  Kaphaelesque  oval  of  its  contour 
was  remarkable  for  an  English  countenance,  and  that 
countenance  housed  in  a  remote  country-road  to  an  un 
heard-of  harbor.  But  her  features  did  not  do  justice  to 
this  splendid  beginning :  Nature  had  recollected  that  she 
was  not  in  Italy ;  and  the  young  lady's  lineaments,  though 
not  so  inconsistent  as  to  make  her  plain,  would  have  been 
accepted  rather  as  pleasing  than  as  correct.  The  preoccu 
pied  expression  which,  like  images  on  the  retina,  remained 
with  her  for  a  moment  after  the  state  that  caused  it  had 
ceased,  now  changed  into  a  reserved,  half-proud,  and  slight 
ly  indignant  look,  in  which  the  blood  diffused  itself  quick 
ly  across  her  cheek,  and  additional  brightness  broke  the 
shade  of  her  rather  heavy  eyes. 

"  I  know  I  have  no  business  here,"  he  said,  answering 
the  look ;  "  but  I  had  a  great  wish  to  see  you,  and  inquire 
how  you  were.  You  can  give  your  hand  to  me,  seeing 
how  often  I  have  held  it  in  past  days  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  forget  than  remember  all  that,  Mr. 
Barnet,"  she  answered,  as  she  coldly  complied  with  the 
request.  "  When  I  think  of  the  circumstances  of  our  last 
meeting  I  can  hardly  consider  it  kind  of  you  to  allude  to 
such  a  thing  as  our  past,  or,  indeed,  to  come  here  at  all." 

"There  was  no  harm  in  it  surely?  I  don't  trouble  you 
often,  Lucy." 

"  I  have  not  had  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  you  for  a 
very  long  time,  certainly,  and  I  did  not  expect  it  now," 
she  said,  with  the  same  stiffness  in  her  air.  "  I  hope  Mrs. 
Barnet  is  very  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes !"  he  impatiently  returned.  "  At  least  I  sup 
pose  so — though  I  only  speak  from  inference." 

"  But  she  is  your  wife,  sir,"  said  the  young  girl,  tremu 
lously. 


68  WESSEX  TALES. 

The  unwonted  tones  of  a  man's  voice  in  that  feminine 
chamber  had  startled  a  canary  that  was  roosting  in  its 
cage  by  the  window ;  the  bird  awoke  hastily,  and  fluttered 
against  the  bars.  She  went  and  stilled  it  by  laying  her 
face  against  the  cage  and  murmuring  a  coaxing  sound. 
It  might  partly  have  been  done  to  still  herself. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  talk  of  Mrs.  Barnet,"  he  pursued ; 
"  I  came  to  talk  of  you,  of  yourself  alone ;  to  inquire  how 
you  are  getting  on  since  your  great  loss."  And  he  turned 
towards  the  portrait  of  her  father. 

"lam  getting  on  fairly  well,  thank  you." 

The  force  of  her  utterance  was  scarcely  borne  out  by 
her  look ;  but  Barnet  courteously  reproached  himself  for 
not  having  guessed  a  thing  so  natural;  and  to  dissipate 
all  embarrassment,  added  as  he  bent  over  the  table, "  What 
were  you  doing  when  I  came  ? — painting  flowers,  and  by 
candlelight  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said, "  not  painting  them — only  sketching 
the  outlines.  I  do  that  at  night  to  save  time — I  have  to 
get  three  dozen  done  by  the  end  of  the  month." 

Barnet  looked  as  if  he  regretted  it  deeply.  "  You  will 
wear  your  poor  eyes  out,"  he  said,  with  more  sentiment 
than  he  had  hitherto  shown.  "  You  ought  not  to  do  it. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  should  have  said  you  must  not. 
Well — I  almost  wish  I  had  never  seen  light  with  my  own 
eyes  when  I  think  of  that !" 

"Is  this  a  time  or  place  for  recalling  such  matters?" 
she  asked,  with  dignity.  "  You  used  to  have  a  gentle 
manly  respect  for  me,  and  for  yourself.  Don't  speak  any 
more  as  you  have  spoken,  and  don't  come  again.  I  can 
not  think  that  this  visit  is  serious,  or  was  closely  consid 
ered  by  you." 

"  Considered !  Well,  I  came  to  see  you  as  an  old  and 
good  friend ;  riot  to  mince  matters,  to  visit  a  woman  I 
loved.  Don't  be  angry !  I  could  not  help  doing  it,  so 
many  things  brought  you  into  my  mind.  .  .  .  This  even 
ing  I  fell  in  with  an  acquaintance,  and  when  I  saw  how 
happy  he  was  with  his  wife  and  family  welcoming  him 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  69 

home,  though  with  only  one-tenth  of  ray  income  and 
chances,  and  thought  what  might  have  been  in  my  case, 
it  fairly  broke  down  my  discretion,  and  off  I  came  here. 
Now  I  am  here  I  feel  that  I  an;  wrong  to  some  extent. 
But  the  feeling  that  I  should  like  to  see  you,  and  talk  of 
those  we  used  to  know  in  common,  was  very  strong." 

"  Before  that  can  be  the  case,  a  little  more  time  must 
pass,"  said  Miss  Savile,  quietly ;  "a  time  long  enough  for 
me  to  regard  with  some  calmness  what  at  present  I  re 
member  far  too  impatiently — though  it  may  be  you  almost 
forget  it.  Indeed  you  must  have  forgotten  it  long  before 
you  acted  as  you  did."  Her  voice  grew  stronger  and 
more  vivacious  as  she  added,  "But  I  am  doing  my  best 
to  forget  it  too ;  and  I  know  I  shall  succeed,  from  the 
progress  I  have  made  already  !" 

She  had  remained  standing  till  now,  when  she  turned 
and  sat  down,  facing  half  away  from  him. 

Barnet  watched  her  moodily.  "  Yes,  it  is  only  what  I 
deserve,"  he  said.  "  Ambition  pricked  me  on — no,  it  was 
not  ambition,  it  was  wrongheadedness !  Had  I  but  reflect 
ed.  . .  ."  He  broke  out  vehemently,  "  But  always  remem 
ber  this,  Lucy :  if  you  had  written  to  me  only  one  little 
line  after  that  misunderstanding,  I  declare  I  should  have 
come  back  to  you.  That  ruined  me !"  He  slowly  walked 
as  far  as  the  little  room  would  allow  him  to  go,  and  re 
mained  with  his  eyes  on  the  skirting. 

"  But,  Mr.  Barnet,  how  could  I  write  to  you  ?  There 
was  no  opening  for  my  doing  so." 

"  Then  there  ought  to  have  been,"  said  Barnet,  turning. 
"That  was  my  fault!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  that ;  but  as  there 
had  been  nothing  said  by  me  which  required  any  expla 
nation  by  letter,  I  did  not  send  one.  Everything  was  so 
indefinite,  and  feeling  your  position  to  be  so  much  wealth 
ier  than  mine,  I  fancied  I  might  have  mistaken  your 
meaning.  And  when  I  heard  of  the  other  lady — a  woman 
of  whose  family  even  you  might  be  proud — I  thought  how 
foolish  I  had  been,  and  said  nothing." 


70  WESSEX  TALES. 

"Then,  I  suppose  it  was  destiny  —  accident  —  I  don't 
know  what,  that  separated  us,  dear  Lucy.  Anyhow,  yon 
were  the  woman  I  ought  to  have  made  my  wife — and  I 
let  you  slip,  like  the  foolish  man  that  I  was !" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Barnet,"  she  said,  almost  in  tears,  "  don't  re 
vive  the  subject  to  me;  I  am  the  wrong  one  to  console 
you.  Think,  sir.  You  should  not  be  here — it  would  be 
so  bad  for  me  if  it  were  known !" 

"It  would — it  would  indeed,"  he  said,  hastily.  "I  am 
not  right  in  doing  this,  and  I  won't  do  it  again." 

"It  is  a  very  common  folly  of  human  nature,  you  know, 
to  think  the  course  you  did  not  adopt  must  have  been  the 
best,"  she  continued,  with  gentle  solicitude,  as  she  follow 
ed  him  to  the  door  of  the  room.  "  And  you  don't  know 
that  I  should  have  accepted  you,  even  if  you  had  asked 
me  to  be  your  wife."  At  this  his  eye  met  hers,  and  she 
dropped  her  gaze.  She  knew  that  her  voice  belied  her. 
There  was  a  silence  till  she  looked  up  to  add,  in  a  voice 
of  soothing  playfulness,  "My  family  was  so  much  poorer 
than  yours,  even  before  I  lost  my  dear  father,  that  per 
haps  your  companions  would  have  made  it  unpleasant  for 
us  on  account  of  my  deficiencies." 

"  Your  disposition  would  soon  have  won  them  round," 
said  Barnet. 

She  archly  expostulated,  "Now,  never  mind  my  dis 
position  ;  try  to  make  it  up  with  your  wife.  Those  are 
my  commands  to  you.  And  now  you  are  to  leave  me  at 
once." 

"  I  will.  I  must  make  the  best  of  it  all,  I  suppose,"  he 
replied,  more  cheerfully  than  he  had  as  yet  spoken.  "  But 
I  shall  never  again  meet  with  such  a  dear  girl  as  you !" 
And  lie  suddenly  opened  the  door,  and  left  her  alone. 
When  his  glance  again  fell  on  the  lamps  that  were  sparse 
ly  ranged  along  the  dreary  level  road,  his  eyes  were  in  a 
state  which  showed  straw-like  motes  of  light  radiating 
from  each  flame  into  the  surrounding  air. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  way  Barnet  observed  a  man 
under  an  umbrella,  walking  parallel  with  himself.  Pres- 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  7l 

ently  this  man  left  the  foot-way,  and  gradually  converged 
on  Barnet's  course.  The  latter  then  saw  that  it  was 
Charlson,  a  surgeon  of  the  town,  who  owed  him  money. 
Charlson  was  a  man  not  without  ability  ;  yet  he  did  not 
prosper.  Sundry  circumstances  stood  in  his  way  as  a 
medical  practitioner ;  he  was  needy  ;  he  was  not  a  coddle  ; 
he  gossiped  with  men  instead  of  with  women ;  he  had 
married  a  stranger  instead  of  one  of  the  town  young 
ladies;  and  he  was  given  to  conversational  buffoonery. 
Moreover,  his  look  was  quite  erroneous.  Those  only  proper 
features  in  the  family  doctor,  the  quiet  eye,  and  the  thin, 
straight,  passionless  lips  which  never  curl  in  public  either 
for  laughter  or  for  scorn,  were  not  his ;  he  had  a  full 
curved  mouth,  and  a  bold  black  eye  that  made  timid  peo 
ple  nervous.  His  companions  were  what  in  old  times 
would  have  been  called  boon  companions — an  expression 
which,  though  of  irreproachable  root,  suggests  fraterniza 
tion  carried  to  the  point  of  unscrupulousness.  All  this 
was  against  him  in  the  little  town  of  his  adoption. 

Charlson  had  been  in  difficulties,  and  to  oblige  him 
Barnet  had  put  his  name  to  a  bill ;  and,  as  he  had  ex 
pected,  was  called  upon  to  meet  it  when  it  fell  due.  It 
had  been  a  matter  of  only  fifty  pounds,  which  Barnet 
could  well  afford  to  lose,  and  he  bore  no  ill-will  to  the 
thriftless  surgeon  on  account  of  it.  But  Charlson  had  a 
little  too  much  brazen  indifferentism  in  his  composition 
to  be  altogether  a  desirable  acquaintance. 

"I  hope  to  be  able  to  make  that  little  bill-business 
right  with  you  in  the  course  of  three  weeks,  Mr.  Barnet," 
said  Charlson,  with  hail-fellow  friendliness. 

Barnet  replied  good-naturedly  that  there  was  no  hurry. 

This  particular  three  weeks  had  moved  on  in  advance 
of  Charlson's  present  with  the  precision  of  a  shadow  for 
some  considerable  time. 

"I've  had  a  dream,"  Charlson  continued.  Barnet  knew 
from  his  tone  that  the  surgeon  was  going  to  begin  his 
characteristic  nonsense,  and  did  not  encourage  him.  "  I've 
had  a  dream,"  repeated  Charlson,  who  required  no  encour- 


72  WESSEX  TALES* 

agement.  "  I  dreamed  that  a  gentleman,  who  has  been 
very  kind  to  me,  married  a  haughty  lady  in  haste,  before 
he  had  quite  forgotten  a  nice  little  girl  he  knew  before, 
and  that  one  wet  evening,  like  the  present,  as  I  was  walk 
ing  up  the  harbor-road,  I  saw  him  come  out  of  that  dear 
little  girl's  present  abode." 

Barnet  glanced  towards  the  speaker.  The  rays  from  a 
neighboring  lamp  struck  through  the  drizzle  under  Charl- 
son's  umbrella,  so  as  just  to  illumine  his  face  against  the 
shade  behind,  and  show  that  his  eye  was  turned  up  under 
the  outer  corner  of  its  lid,  whence  it  leered  with  impish 
jocoseness  as  he  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek. 

"  Come,"  said  Barnet,  gravely, "  we'll  have  no  more  of 
that." 

"No,  no  —  of  course  not,"  Charlson  hastily  answered, 
seeing  that  his  humor  had  carried  him  too  far,  as  it  had 
done  many  times  before.  He  was  profuse  in  his  apolo 
gies,  but  Barnet  did  not  reply.  Of  one  thing  he  was  cer 
tain—that  scandal  was  a  plant  of  quick  root,  and  that  he 
was  bound  to  obey  Lucy's  injunction  for  Lucy's  own  sake. 


III. 

HE  did  so  to  the  letter ;  and  though,  as  the  crocus  fol 
lowed  the  snow-drop  and  the  daffodil  the  crocus  in  Lucy's 
garden,  the  harbor -road  was  a  not  unpleasant  place  to 
walk  in,  Barnet's  feet  never  trod  its  stones,  much  less 
approached  her  door.  He  avoided  a  saunter  that  way  as 
he  would  have  avoided  a  dangerous  dram,  and  took  his 
airings  a  long  distance  northward,  among  severely  square 
and  brown  ploughed  fields,  where  no  other  townsman 
came.  Sometimes  he  went  round  by  the  lower  lanes  of 
the  borough,  where  the  rope-walks  stretched  in  which  his 
family  formerly  had  share,  and  looked  at  the  rope-makers 
walking  backward,  overhung  by  apple-trees  and  bushes, 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  73 

and  intruded  on  by  cows  and  calves,  as  if  trade  had  estab 
lished  itself  there  at  considerable  inconvenience  to  nature. 

One  morning,  when  the  sun  was  so  warm  as  to  raise  a 
steam  from  the  south-eastern  slopes  of  those  flanking  hills 
that  looked  so  lovely  above  the  old  roofs,  but  made  every 
low-chimneyed  house  in  the  town  as  smoky  as  Tophet, 
Barnet  glanced  from  the  windows  of  the  town-council 
room  for  lack  of  interest  in  what  was  proceeding  within. 
Several  members  of  the  corporation  were  present,  but 
there  was  not  much  business  doing,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
Downe  came  leisurely  across  to  him,  saying  that  he  sel 
dom  saw  Barnet  now. 

Barnet  owned  that  he  was  not  often  present. 

Downe  looked  at  the  crimson  curtain  which  hung  down 
beside  the  panes,  reflecting  its  hot  hues  into  their  faces, 
and  then  out  of  the  window.  At  that  moment  there  pass 
ed  along  the  street  a  tall,  commanding  lady,  in  whom  the 
solicitor  recognized  Barnet's  wife.  Barnet  had  done  the 
same  thing,  and  turned  away. 

"It  will  be  all  right  some  day,"  said  Downe,  with  cheer 
ing  sympathy. 

"  You  have  heard,  then,  of  her  last  outbreak  ?" 

Downe  depressed  his  cheerfulness  to  its  very  reverse 
in  a  moment.  "No,  I  have  not  heard  of  anything  seri 
ous,"  he  said,  with  as  long  a  face  as  one  naturally  round 
could  be  turned  into  at  short  notice.  "  I  only  hear  vague 
reports  of  such  things." 

"  You  may  think  it  will  be  all  right,"  said  Barnet,  dryly; 
"  but  I  have  a  different  opinion.  .  .  .  No,  Downe,  we  must 
look  the  thing  in  the  face.  Not  poppy  nor  mandragora 
— however,  how  are  your  wife  and  children  ?" 

Downe  said  that  they  were  all  well,  thanks ;  they  were 
out  that  morning  somewhere;  he  was  just  looking  to  see 
if  they  were  walking  that  way.  Ah,  there  they  were,  just 
coming  down  the  street,  and  Downe  pointed  to  the  figures 
of  two  children  with  a  nurse-maid,  and  a  lady  walking  be 
hind  them. 

"You  will  come  out  and  speak  to  her?"  he  asked. 


74  WESSEX  TALES. 

"Not  this  morning.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  care  to  speak 
to  anybody  just  now." 

"  You  are  too  sensitive,  Mr.  Barnet.  At  school  I  re 
member  you  used  to  get  as  red  as  a  rose  if  anybody  ut 
tered  a  word  that  hurt  your  feelings." 

Barnet  mused.  "  Yes,"  he  admitted,  "  there  is  a  grain 
of  truth  in  that.  It  is  because  of  that  I  often  try  to  make 
peace  at  home.  Life  would  be  tolerable  then  at  any  rate, 
even  if  not  particularly  bright." 

"I- have  thought  more  than  once  of  proposing  a  little 
plan  to  you,"  said  Downe,  with  some  hesitation.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  it  will  meet  your  views;  but  take  it  or  leave 
it,  as  you  choose.  In  fact,  it  was  my  wife  who  suggested 
it;  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  call  on  Mrs.  Barnet  and 
get  into  her  confidence.  She  seems  to  think  that  Mrs. 
Barnet  is  rather  alone  in  the  town,  and  without  advisers. 
Her  impression  is  that  your  wife  will  listen  to  reason. 
Emily  has  a  wonderful  way  of  winning  the  hearts  of  peo 
ple  of  her  own  sex." 

"And  of  the  other  sex  too,  I  think.  She  is  a  charming 
woman,  and  you  were  a  lucky  fellow  to  find  her." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  was,"  simpered  Downe,  trying  to  wear 
an  aspect  of  being  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  feel  pride. 
"  However,  she  will  be  likely  to  find  out  what  ruffles  Mrs. 
Barnet.  Perhaps  it  is  some  misunderstanding,  you  know 
— something  that  she  is  too  proud  to  ask  you  to  explain, 
or  some  little  thing  in  your  conduct  that  irritates  her  be 
cause  she  does  not  fully  comprehend  you.  The  truth  is, 
Emily  would  have  been  more  ready  to  make  advances  if 
she  had  been  quite  sure  of  her  fitness  for  Mrs.  Barnet's 
society,  who  has  of  course  been  accustomed  to  London 
people  of  good  position,  which  made  Emily  fearful  of  in 
truding." 

Barnet  expressed  his  warmest  thanks  for  the  well-in 
tentioned  proposition.  There  was  reason  in  Mrs.  Downe's 
fear — that  he  owned.  "  But  do  let  her  call,"  he  said. 
"There  is  no  woman  in  England  I  would  so  soon  trust  on 
such  an  errand.  I  am  afraid  there  will  not  be  any  brill- 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  75 

iant  result;  still,  I  shall  take  it  as  the  kindest  and  nicest 
thing  if  she  will  try  it,  and  not  be  frightened  at  a  re 
pulse." 

When  Barnet  and  Downe  had  parted,  the  former  went 
to  the  town  savings-bank,  of  which  he  was  a  trustee, 
and  endeavored  to  forget  his  troubles  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  low  sums  of  money,  and  figures  in  a  net-work  of 
red  and  blue  lines.  He  sat  and  watched  the  working- 
people  making  their  deposits,  to  which  at  intervals  he 
signed  his  name.  Before  he  left  in  the  afternoon  Downe 
put  his  head  inside  the  door. 

"  Emily  has  seen  Mrs.  Barnet,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  She  has  got  Mrs.  Barnet's  promise  to  take  her  for  a 
drive  down  to  the  shore  to-morrow,  if  it  is  fine.  Good- 
afternoon  !" 

Barnet  shook  Downe  by  the  hand  without  speaking, 
and  Downe  went  away. 


IV. 

THE  next  day  was  as  fine  as  the  arrangement  could 
possibly  require.  As  the  sun  passed  the  meridian  and 
declined  westward,  the  tall  shadows  from  the  scaffold- 
poles  of  Barnet's  rising  residence  streaked  the  ground  as 
far  as  to  the  middle  of  the  highway.  Barnet  himself  was 
there  inspecting  the  progress  of  the  works  for  the  first 
time  during  several  weeks.  A  building  in  an  old-fashion 
ed  town  five-and-thirty  years  ago  did  not,  as  in  the  mod 
ern  fashion,  rise  from  the  sod  like  a  booth  at  a  fair.  The 
foundations  and  lower  courses  were  put  in  and  allowed 
to  settle  for  many  weeks  before  the  superstructure  was 
built  up,  and  a  whole  summer  of  drying  was  hardly  suffi 
cient  to  do  justice  to  the  important  issues  involved.  Bar- 
net  stood  within  a  window-niche  which  had  as  yet  re 
ceived  no  frame,  and  thence  looked  down  a  slope  into  the 
road.  The  wheels  of  a  chaise  were  heard,  and  then  his 


76  WESSEX  TALES. 

handsome  Xanthippe,  in  the  company  of  Mrs.  Downe, 
drove  past  on  her  way  to  the  shore.  They  were  driving 
slowly ;  there  was  a  pleasing  light  in  Mrs.  Downe's  face, 
which  seemed  faintly  to  reflect  itself  upon  the  coun 
tenance  of  her  companion — that  politesse  du  cceur  which 
was  so  natural  to  her  having  possibly  begun  already  to 
work  results.  But  whatever  the  situation,  Barnet  resolved 
not  to  interfere,  or  do  anything  to  hazard  the  glory  of  the 
day.  Pie  might  well  afford  to  trust  the  issue  to  another 
when  he  could  never  direct  it  but  to  ill  himself.  His 
wife's  clinched  rein-hand  in  its  lemon-colored  glove,  her 
stiff  erect  figure,  clad  in  velvet  and  lace,  and  her  boldly 
outlined  face,  passed  on,  exhibiting  their  owner  as  one 
fixed  forever  above  the  level  of  her  companion — socially 
by  her  early  breeding,  and  materially  by  her  higher 
cushion. 

Barnet  decided  to  allow  them  a  proper  time  to  them 
selves,  and  then  stroll  down  to  the  shore  and  drive  them 
home.  After  lingering  on  at  the  house  for  another  hour, 
he  started  with  this  intention.  A  few  hundred  yards  be 
low  "  Chateau  Eingdale  "  stood  the  cottage  in  which  the 
late  lieutenant's  daughter  had  her  lodging.  Barnet  had 
not  been  so  far  that  way  for  a  long  time,  and  as  he  ap 
proached  the  forbidden  ground  a  curious  warmth  passed 
into  him,  which  led  him  to  perceive  that,  unless  he  were 
careful,  he  might  have  to  fight  the  battle  with  himself 
about  Lucy  over  again.  A  tenth  of  his  present  excuse 
would,  however,  have  justified  him  in  travelling  by  that 
road  to-day. 

He  came  opposite  the  dwelling,  and  turned  his  eyes  for 
a  momentary  glance  into  the  little  garden  that  stretched 
from  the  palings  to  the  door.  Lucy  was  in  the  enclosure; 
she  was  walking  and  stooping  to  gather  some  flowers,  pos 
sibly  for  the  purpose  of  painting  them,  for  she  moved 
about  quickly,  as  if  anxious  to  save  time.  She  did  not 
see  him ;  he  might  have  passed  unnoticed ;  but  a  sensa 
tion  which  was  not  in  strict  unison  with  his  previous  sen 
timents  that  day  led  him  to  pause  in  his  walk  and  watch 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  f7 

her.  She  went  nimbly  round  and  round  the  beds  of  anemo 
nes,  tulips,  jonquils,  polyanthuses,  and  other  old-fashioned 
flowers,  looking  a  very  charming  figure  in  her  half-mourn 
ing  bonnet,  and  with  an  incomplete  nosegay  in  her  left 
hand.  Raising  herself  to  pull  down  a  lilac-blossom,  she 
observed  him. 

"  Mr.  Barnet !"  she  said,  innocently  smiling.  "  Why,  I 
have  been  thinking  of  you  many  times  since  your  pony- 
carriage  went  by,  and  now  here  you  are !" 

"  Yes,  Lucy,"  he  said. 

Then  she  seemed  to  recall  particulars  of  their  last  meet 
ing,  and  he  believed  that  she  flushed,  though  it  might 
have  been  only  the  fancy  of  his  own  supersensitiveness. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  harbor,"  he  added. 

"Are  you?"  Lucy  remarked,  simply.  "A  great  many 
people  begin  to  go  there,  now  the  summer  is  drawing  on." 

Her  face  had  come  more  into  his  view  as  she  spoke,  and 
he  noticed  how  much  thinner  and  paler  it  was  than  when 
he  had  seen  it  last.  "  Lucy,  how  weary  you  look !  tell  me, 
can  I  help  you  ?"  he  was  going  to  cry  out.  "  If  I  do,"  he 
thought,  "  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  us  both."  He  merely  said 
that  the  afternoon  was  fine,  and  went  on  his  way. 

As  he  went,  a  sudden  blast  of  air  came  over  the  hill  as 
if  in  contradiction  to  his  words,  and  spoiled  the  previous 
quiet  of  the  scene.  The  wind  had  already  shifted  violent 
ly,  and  now  smelled  of  the  sea. 

The  harbor-road  soon  began  to  justify  its  name.  A  gap 
appeared  in  the  rampart  of  hills  which  shut  out  the  sea, 
and  on  the  left  of  the  opening  rose  a  vertical  cliff,  colored 
a  burning  orange  by  the  sunlight,  the  companion  cliff  on 
the  right  being  livid  in  shade.  Between  these  cliffs,  like 
the  Libyan  bay  which  sheltered  the  shipwrecked  Trojans, 
was  a  little  haven,  seemingly  a  beginning  made  by  Nature 
herself  of  a  perfect  harbor,  which  appealed  to  the  passer 
by  as  only  requiring  a  little  human  industry  to  finish  it 
and  make  it  famous,  the  ground  on  each  side  as  far  back 
as  the  daisied  slopes  that  bounded  the  interior  valley  be 
ing  a  mere  layer  of  blown  sand.  But  the  Port-Bredy  bur- 


78  WESSEX   TALES. 

gesses  a  mile  inland  had,  in  the  course  of  ten  centuries, 
responded  many  times  to  that  mute  appeal,  with  the  re 
sult  that  the  tides  had  invariably  choked  up  their  works 
with  sand  and  shingle  as  soon  as  completed.  There  were 
but  few  houses  here  :  a  rough  pier,  a  few  boats,  some  stores, 
an  inn,  a  residence  or  two,  a  ketch  unloading  in  the  harbor, 
were  the  chief  features  of  the  settlement.  On  the  open 
ground  by  the  shore  stood  his  wife's  pony-carriage,  empty, 
the  boy  in  attendance  holding  the  horse. 

When  Barnet  drew  nearer  he  saw  an  indigo -colored 
spot  moving  swiftly  along  beneath  the  radiant  base  of  the 
eastern  cliff,  which  proved  to  be  a  man  in  a  jersey,  run 
ning  with  all  his  might.  He  held  up  his  hand  to  Barnet, 
as  it  seemed,  and  they  approached  each  other.  The  man 
was  local,  but  a  stranger  to  him. 

"  What  is  it,  my  man  ?"  said  Barnet. 

"A  terrible  calamity!"  the  boatman  hastily  explained. 
Two  ladies  had  been  capsized  in  a  boat — they  were  Mrs. 
Downe  and  Mrs.  Barnet,  of  the  old  town  ;  they  had  driv 
en  down  there  that  afternoon;  they  had  alighted,  and  it 
was  so  fine  that,  after  walking  about  a  little  while,  they 
had  been  tempted  to  go  out  for  a  short  sail  round  the  cliff. 
Just  as  they  were  putting  into  the  shore  the  wind  shifted 
with  a  sudden  gust,  the  boat  listed  over,  and  it  was  thought 
they  were  both  drowned.  How  it  could  have  happened 
was  beyond  his  mind  to  fathom,  for  John  Green  knew 
how  to  sail  a  boat  as  well  as  any  man  there. 

"  Which  is  the  way  to  the  place  ?"  said  Barnet. 

It  was  just  round  the  cliff. 

"Run  to  the  carriage, and  tell  the  boy  to  bring  it  to  the 
place  as  soon  as  you  can.  Then  go  to  the  Harbor  Inn  and 
tell  them  to  ride  to  town  for  a  doctor.  Have  they  been 
got  out  of  the  water  ?" 

"  One  lady  has." 

"Which?" 

"  Mrs.  Barnet.  Mrs.  Downe,  it  is  feared,  has  fleeted  out 
to  sea." 

Barnet  ran  on  to  that  part  of  the  shore  which  the  cliff 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  79 

had  hitherto  obscured  from  his  view,  and  there  discerned, 
a  long  way  ahead,  a  group  of  fishermen  standing.  As  soon 
as  he  came  up  one  or  two  recognized  him,  and,  not  liking 
to  meet  his  eye,  turned  aside  with  misgiving.  He  went 
amid  them  and  saw  a  small  sailing-boat  lying  draggled  at 
the  water's  edge ;  and,  on  the  sloping  shingle  beside  it,  a 
soaked  and  sandy  woman's  form  in  the  velvet  dress  and 
yellow  gloves  of  his  wife. 


V. 

ALL  had  been  done  that  could  be  done.  Mrs.  Barnet 
was  in  her  own  house  under  medical  hands,  but  the  result 
was  still  uncertain.  Barnet  had  acted  as  if  devotion  to  his 
wife  were  the  dominant  passion  of  his  existence.  There 
had  been  much  to  decide — whether  to  attempt  restoration 
of  the  apparently  lifeless  body  as  it  lay  on  the  shore, 
whether  to  carry  her  to  the  Harbor  Inn,  whether  to  drive 
with  her  at  once  to  his  own  house.  The  first  course,  with 
no  skilled  help  or  appliances  near  at  hand,  had  seemed 
hopeless.  The  second  course  would  have  occupied  nearly 
as  much  time  as  a  drive  to  the  town,  owing  to  the  inter 
vening  ridges  of  shingle,  and  the  necessity  of  crossing  the 
harbor  by  boat  to  get  to  the  house,  added  to  which  much 
time  must  have  elapsed  before  a  doctor  could  have  arrived 
down  there.  By  bringing  her  home  in  the  carriage  some 
precious  moments  had  slipped  by ;  but  she  had  been  laid 
in  her  own  bed  in  seven  minutes,  a  doctor  called  to  her 
side,  and  every  possible  restorative  brought  to  bear  upon 
her. 

At  what  a  tearing  pace  he  had  driven  up  that  road, 
through  the  yellow  evening  sunlight,  the  shadows  flapping 
irksomely  into  his  eyes  as  each  way-side  object  rushed  past 
between  him  and  the  west!  Tired  workmen  with  their 
baskets  at  their  backs  had  turned  on  their  homeward 
journey  to  wonder  at  his  speed.  Half-way  between  the 


80  WESSEX  TALES. 

^ 

shore  and  Port-Bredy  town  he  had  met  Charlson,  who  had 
been  the  first  surgeon  to  hear  of  the  accident.  He  was 
accompanied  by  his  assistant  in  a  gig.  Barnet  had  sent 
on  the  latter  to  the  coast  in  case  that  Downe's  poor  wife 
should  by  that  time  have  been  reclaimed  from  the  waves, 
and  had  brought  Charlson  back  with  him  to  the  house. 

Barnet's  presence  was  not  needed  here,  and  he  felt  it  to 
be  his  next  duty  to  set  off  at  once  and  find  Downe,  that 
no  other  than  himself  might  break  the  news  to  him. 

He  was  quite  sure  that  no  chance  had  been  lost  for 
Mrs.  Downe  by  his  leaving  the  shore.  By  the  time  that 
Mrs.  Barnet  had  been  laid  in  the  carriage,  a  much  larger 
group  had  assembled  to  lend  assistance  in  finding  her 
friend,  rendering  his  own  help  superfluous.  But  the  duty 
of  breaking  the  news  was  made  doubly  painful  by  the 
circumstance  that  the  catastrophe  which  had  befallen 
Mrs.  Downe  was  solely  the  result  of  her  own  and  her 
husband's  loving-kindness  towards  himself. 

He  found  Downe  in  his  office.  When  the  solicitor 
comprehended  the  intelligence  he  turned  pale,  stood  up, 
and  remained  for  a  moment  perfectly  still,  as  if  bereft  of 
his  faculties;  then  his  shoulders  heaved,  he  pulled  out  his 
handkerchief  and  began  to  cry  like  a  child.  His  sobs 
might  have  been  heard  in  the  next  room.  He  seemed  to 
have  no  idea  of  going  to  the  shore,  or  of  doing  anything; 
but  when  Barnet  took  him  gently  by  the  hand,  and  pro 
posed  to  start  at  once,  he  quietly  acquiesced,  neither  utter 
ing  any  further  word  nor  making  any  effort  to  repress  his 
tears. 

Barnet  accompanied  him  to  the  shore,  where,  finding 
that  no  trace  had  as  yet  been  seen  of  Mrs.  Downe,  and 
that  his  stay  would  be  of  no  avail,  he  left  Downe  with  his 
friends  and  the  young  doctor,  and  once  more  hastened 
back  to  his  own  house. 

At  the  door  he  met  Charlson.     "  Well  ?"  Barnet  said. 

"I  have  just  come  down,"  said  the  doctor;  "we  have 
done  everything,  but  without  result.  I  sympathize  with 
you  in  your  bereavement" 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  81 

Barnet  did  not  much  appreciate  Charlson's  sympathy, 
which  sounded  to  his  ears  as  something  of  a  mockery 
from  the  lips  of  a  man  who  knew  what  Charlson  knew 
about  their  domestic  relations.  Indeed  there  seemed  an 
odd  spark  in  Charlson's  full  black  eye  as  he  said  the 
words ;  but  that  might  have  been  imaginary. 

"  And,  Mr.  Barnet,"  Charlson  resumed,  "  that  little  mat 
ter  between  us — I  hope  to  settle  it  finally  in  three  weeks 
at  least." 

"  Never  mind  that  now,"  said  Barnet,  abruptly.  He 
directed  the  surgeon  to  go  to  the  harbor  in  case  his  serv-- 
ices  might  even  now  be  necessary  there;  and  himself 
entered  the  house. 

The  servants  were  coming  from  his  wife's  chamber, 
looking  helplessly  at  one  another  and  at  him.  He  passed 
them  by  and  entered  the  room,  where  he  stood  mutely 
regarding  the  bed  for  a  few  minutes,  after  which  he 
walked  into  his  own  dressing-room  adjoining,  and  there 
paced  up  and  down.  In  a  minute  or  two  he  noticed  what 
a  strange  and  total  silence  had  come  over  the  upper  part 
of  the  house ;  his  own  movements,  muffled  as  they  were 
by  the  carpet,  seemed  noisy;  and  his  thoughts  to  disturb 
the  air  like  articulate  utterances.  His  eye  glanced  through 
the  window.  Far  down  the  road  to  the  harbor  a  roof  de 
tained  his  gaze;  out  of  it  rose  a  red  chimney,  and  out  of 
the  red  chimney  a  curl  of  smoke,  as  from  a  fire  newly 
kindled.  He  had  often  seen  such  a  sight  before.  In  that 
house  lived  Lucy  Savile,  and  the  smoke  was  from  the 
fire  which  was  regularly  lighted  at  this  time  to  make  her 
tea. 

After  that  he  went  back  to  the  bedroom,  and  stood 
there  some  time  regarding  his  wife's  silent  form.  She 
was  a  woman  some  years  older  than  himself,  but  had  not 
by  any  means  overpassed  the  maturity  of  good  looks  and 
vigor.  Her  passionate  features,  well-defined,  firm,  and 
statuesque  in  life,  were  doubly  so  now ;  her  mouth  and 
brow,  beneath  her  purplish  black  hair,  showed  only  too 
clearly  that  the  turbulency  of  character  which  had  made 

a 


82  WESSEX  TALES. 

a  bear-garden  of  his  house  had  been  no  temporary  phase 
of  her  existence.  While  he  reflected,  he  suddenly  said  to 
himself.  I  wonder  if  all  has  been  done  ? 

The  thought  was  led  up  to  by  his  having  fancied  that 
his  wife's  features  lacked  in  complete  form  the  expres 
sion  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  associate  with  the 
faces  of  those  whose  spirits  have  fled  forever.  The  efface- 
ment  of  life  was  not  so  marked  but  that,  entering  unin 
formed,  he  might  have  supposed  her  sleeping.  Her  com 
plexion  was  that  seen  in  the  numerous  faded  portraits  by 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds;  it  was  pallid  in  comparison  with 
life,  but  there  was  visible  on  a  close  inspection  the  rem 
nant  of  what  had  once  been  a  flush ;  the  keeping  between 
the  cheeks  and  the  hollows  of  the  face  being  thus  pre 
served,  although  positive  color  was  gone.  Long  orange 
rays  of  evening  sun  stole  in  through  chinks  in  the  blind, 
striking  on  the  large  mirror,  and  being  thence  reflected 
upon  the  crimson  hangings  and  wood- work  of  the  heavy 
bedstead,  so  that  the  general  tone  of  light  was  remarkably 
warm ;  and  it  was  probable  that  something  might  be  due 
to  this  circumstance.  Still  the  fact  impressed  him  as 
strange.  Charlson  had  been  gone  more  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour;  could  it  be  possible  that  he  had  left  too  soon, 
and  that  his  attempts  to  restore  her  had  operated  so  slug 
gishly  as  only  now  to  have  made  themselves  felt  ?  Barnet 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  chest,  and  fancied  that  ever  and 
anon  a  faint  flutter  of  palpitation,  gentle  as  that  of  a  but 
terfly's  wing,  disturbed  the  stillness  there — ceasing  for  a 
time,  then  struggling  to  go  on,  then  breaking  down  in 
weakness  and  ceasing  again. 

Barnet's  mother  had  been  an  active  practitioner  of  the 
healing  art  among  her  poorer  neighbors,  and  her  inspira 
tions  had  all  been  derived  from  an  octavo  volume  of  Do 
mestic  Medicine,  which  at  this  moment  was  lying,  as  it 
had  lain  for  many  years,  on  a  shelf  in  Barnet's  dressing- 
room.  He  hastily  fetched  it,  and  there  read,  under  the 
head  "Drowning:" 

"  Exertions  for  the  recovery  of  any  person  who  has  not 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  83 

been  immersed  for  a  longer  period  than  half  an  hour 
should  be  continued  for  at  least  four  hours,  as  there  have 
been  many  cases  in  which  returning  life  has  made  itself 
visible  even  after  a  longer  interval. 

"  Should,  however,  a  weak  action  of  any  of  the  organs 
show  itself  when  the  case  seems  almost  hopeless,  our 
efforts  must  be  redoubled  ;  the  feeble  spark  in  this  case 
requires  to  be  solicited  ;  it  will  certainly  disappear  under 
a  relaxation  of  labor." 

Barnet  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  now  barely  two 
hours  and  a  half  from  the  time  when  he  had  first  heard 
of  the  accident.  He  threw  aside  the  book,  and  turned 
quickly  to  reach  a  stimulant  which  had  previously  been 
used.  Pulling  up  the  blind  for  more  light,  his  eye 
glanced  out  of  the  window.  There  he  saw  that  red 
chimney  still  smoking  cheerily,  and  that  roof,  and  through 
the  roof  that  somebody.  His  mechanical  movements 
stopped,  his  hand  remained  on  the  blind-cord,  and  he 
seemed  to  become  breathless,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  found 
himself  treading  a  high  rope. 

While  he  stood  a  sparrow  lighted  on  the  window-sill, 
saw  him,  and  flew  away.  Next  a  man  and  a  dog  walked 
over  one  of  the  green  hills  which  bulged  above  the  roofs 
of  the  town.  But  Barnet  took  no  notice. 

We  may  wonder  what  were  the  exact  images  that  passed 
through  his  mind  during  those  minutes  of  gazing  upon 
Lucy  Savile's  house,  the  sparrow,  the  man  and  the  dog, 
and  Lucy  Savile's  house  again.  There  are  honest  men 
who  will  not  admit  to  their  thoughts,  even  as  idle  hypoth 
eses,  views  of  the  future  that  assume  as  done  a  deed  which 
they  would  recoil  from  doing;  and  there  are  other  honest 
men  for  whom  morality  ends  at  the  surface  of  their  own 
heads,  who  will  deliberate  what  the  first  will  not  so  much 
as  suppose.  Barnet  had  a  wife  whose  presence  distracted 
his  home  ;  she  now  lay  as  in  death  ;  by  merely  doing  noth 
ing — by  letting  the  intelligence  which  had  gone  forth  to 
the  world  lie  undisturbed — he  would  effect  such  a  deliv 
erance  for  himself  as  he  had  never  hoped  for,  and  open 


84:  WESSEX   TALES. 

up  an  opportunity  of  which  till  now  he  had  never  dreamed. 
Whether  the  conjuncture  had  arisen  through  any  unscru 
pulous,  ill-considered  impulse  of  Charlson  to  help  out  of 
a  strait  the  friend  who  was  so  kind  as  never  to  press  him 
for  what  was  due  could  not  be  told ;  there  was  nothing 
to  prove  it;  and  it  was  a  question  which  could  never  be 
asked.  The  triangular  situation — himself,  his  wife,  Lucy 
Savile — was  the  one  clear  thing. 

From  Barnet's  actions  we  may  infer  that  he  supposed 
such  and  such  a  result  for  a  moment,  but  did  not  deliber 
ate.  He  withdrew  his  hazel  eyes  from  the  scene  without, 
calmly  turned,  rang  the  bell  for  assistance,  and  vigorously 
exerted  himself  to  learn  if  life  still  lingered  in  that  mo 
tionless  frame.  In  a  short  time  another  surgeon  was  in 
attendance,  and  then  Barnet's  surmise  proved  to  be  true. 
The  slow  life  timidly  heaved  again  ;  but  much  care  and 
patience  were  needed  to  catch  and  retain  it,  and  a  consid 
erable  period  elapsed  before  it  could  be  said  with  certainty 
that  Mrs.  Barnet  lived.  When  this  was  the  case,  and 
there  was  no  further  room  for  doubt,  Barnet  left  the 
chamber.  The  blue  evening  smoke  from  Lucy's  chim 
ney  had  died  down  to  an  imperceptible  stream,  and  as  he 
walked  about  down-stairs  he  murmured  to  himself,  "My 
wife  was  dead,  and  she  is  alive  again." 

It  was  not  so  with  Downe.  After  three  hours'  immer 
sion  his  wife's  body  had  been  recovered,  life,  of  course, 
being  quite  extinct.  Barnet,  on  descending,  went  straight 
to  his  friend's  house,  and  there  learned  the  result.  Downe 
was  helpless  in  his  wild  grief,  occasionally  even  hysterical. 
Barnet  said  little,  but  finding  that  some  guiding  hand  was 
necessary  in  the  sorrow-stricken  household,  took  upon  him 
to  supervise  and  manage  till  Downe  should  be  in  a  state 
of  mind  to  do  so  for  himself. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  85 


VI. 

ONE  September  evening,  four  months  later,  when  Mrs. 
Barnet  was  in  perfect  health,  and  Mrs.  Downe  but  a  weak 
ening  memory,  an  errand-boy  paused  to  rest  himself  in 
front  of  Mr.  Barnet's  old  house,  depositing  his  basket  on 
one  of  the  window-sills.  The  street  was  not  yet  lighted, 
but  there  were  lights  in  the  house,  and  at  intervals  a  flit 
ting  shadow  fell  upon  the  blind  at  his  elbow.  Words, 
also,  were  audible  from  the  same  apartment,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  those  of  persons  in  violent  altercation.  But 
the  boy  could  not  gather  their  purport,  and  he  went  on 
his  way. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  door  of  Barnet's  house 
opened,  and  a  tall,  closely  veiled  lady  in  a  travelling-dress 
came  out  and  descended  the  freestone  steps.  The  servant 
stood  in  the  door-way  watching  her  as  she  went  with  a 
measured  tread  down  the  street.  When  she  had  been 
out  of  sight  for  some  minutes  Barnet  appeared  at  the 
door  from  within. 

"Did  your  mistress  leave  word  where  she  was  going?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  sir." 

"Is  the  carriage  ordered  to  meet  her  anywhere?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Did  she  take  a  latch-key?" 

"No,  sir." 

Barnet  went  in  again,  sat  down  in  his  chair,  and  leaned 
back.  Then  in  solitude  and  silence  he  brooded  over  the 
bitter  emotions  that  filled  his  heart.  It  was  for  this  that 
he  had  gratuitously  restored  her  to  life,  and  made  his 
union  with  another  impossible!  The  evening  drew  on, 
and  nobody  came  to  disturb  him.  At  bedtime  he  told 
the  servants  to  retire,  that  he  would  sit  up  for  Mrs.  Bar- 


86  WESSEX  TALES. 

net  himself ;  and  when  they  were  gone  he  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand  and  mused  for  hours. 

The  clock  struck  one,  two  ;  still  his  wife  came  not,  and, 
with  impatience  added  to  depression,  he  went  from  room 
to  room  till  another  weary  hour  had  passed.  This  was 
not  altogether  a  new  experience  for  Barnet ;  but  she  had 
never  before  so  prolonged  her  absence.  At  last  he  sat 
down  again  and  fell  asleep. 

He  awoke  at  six  o'clock  to  find  that  she  had  not  re 
turned.  In  searching  about  the  rooms  he  discovered  that 
she  had  taken  a  case  of  jewels  which  had  been  hers  before 
her  marriage.  At  eight  a  note  was  brought  him ;  it  was 
from  his  wife,  in  which  she  stated  that  she  had  gone  by 
the  coach  to  the  house  of  a  distant  relative  near  London, 
and  expressed  a  wish  that  certain  boxes,  articles  of  cloth 
ing,  and  so  on,  might  be  sent  to  her  forthwith.  The  note 
was  brought  to  him  by  a  waiter  at  the  Black  Bull  Hotel, 
and  had  been  written  by  Mrs.  Barnet  immediately  before 
she  took  her  place  in  the  stage. 

By  the  evening  this  order  was  carried  out,  and  Barnet, 
with  a  sense  of  relief,  walked  out  into  the  town.  A  fair 
had  been  held  during  the  day,  and  the  large  clear  moon 
which  rose  over  the  most  prominent  hill  flung  its  light 
upon  the  booths  and  standings  that  still  remained  in 
the  street,  mixing  its  rays  curiously  with  those  from  the 
flaring  naphtha  lamps.  The  town  was  full  of  country- 
people  who  had  come  in  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  on  this 
account  Barnet  strolled  through  the  streets  unobserved. 
With  a  certain  recklessness  he  made  for  the  harbor-road, 
and  presently  found  himself  by  the  shore,  where  he  walked 
on  till  he  came  to  the  spot  near  which  his  friend  the 
kindly  Mrs.  Downe  had  lost  her  life,  and  his  own  wife's 
life  had  been  preserved.  A  tremulous  path-way  of  bright 
moonshine  now  stretched  over  the  water,  which  had  in 
gulfed  them,  and  not  a  living  soul  wa,s  near. 

Here  he  ruminated  on  their  characters,  and  next  on  the 
young  girl  in  whom  he  now  took  a  more  sensitive  interest 
than  at  the  time  when  he  had  been  free  to  marry  her. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  87 

Nothing,  so  far  as  he  was  aware,,  had  ever  appeared  in  his 
own  conduct  to  show  that  such  an  interest  existed.  He 
had  made  it  a  point  of  the  utmost  strictness  to  hinder  that 
feeling  from  influencing  in  the  faintest  degree  his  attitude 
towards  his  wife ;  and  this  was  made  all  the  more  easy 
for  him  by  the  small  demand  Mrs.  Barnet  made  upon 
his  attentions,  for  which  she  ever  evinced  the  greatest 
contempt;  thus  unwittingly  giving  him  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  their  severance  owed  nothing  to  jealousy, 
or,  indeed,  to  any  personal  behavior  of  his  at  all.  Her 
concern  was  not  with  him  or  his  feelings,  as  she  frequent 
ly  told  him ;  but  that  she  had,  in  a  moment  of  weakness, 
thrown  herself  away  upon  a  common  burgher  when  she 
might  have  aimed  at,  and  possibly  brought  down,  a  peer 
of  the  realm.  Her  frequent  depreciation  of  Barnet  in 
these  terms  had  at  times  been  so  intense  that  he  was  sore 
ly  tempted  to  retaliate  on  her  egotism  by  owning  that  he 
loved  at  the  same  low  level  on  which  he  lived ;  but  pru 
dence  had  prevailed,  for  which  he  was  now  thankful. 

Something  seemed  to  sound  upon  the  shingle  behind 
him  over  and*  above  the  raking  of  the  wave.  He  looked 
round,  and  a  slight  girlish  shape  appeared  quite  close  to 
him.  He  could  not  see  her  face  because  it  was  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  moon. 

"  Mr.  Barnet  ?"  the  rambler  said,  in  timid  surprise.  The 
voice  was  the  voice  of  Lucy  Savile. 

"  Yes,"  said  Barnet.  "  How  can  I  repay  you  for  this 
pleasure  ?" 

"I  only  came  because  the  night  was  so  clear.  I  am 
now  on  my  way  home." 

"  I  am  glad  we  have  met.  I  want  to  know  if  you  will 
let  me  do  something  for  you,  to  give  me  an  occupation, 
as  an  idle  man  ?  I  am  sure  I  ought  to  help  you,  for  I 
know  you  are  almost  without  friends." 

She  hesitated.  "  Why  should  you  tell  me  that  ?"  she 
said. 

"  In  the  hope  that  you  will  be  frank  with  me." 

"  I  am  not  altogether  without  friends  here.     But  I  am 


88  WESSEX   TALES. 

going  to  make  a  little  change  in  my  life — to  go  out  as  a 
teacher  of  free-hand  drawing  and  practical  perspective,  of 
course  I  mean  on  a  comparatively  humble  scale,  because  I 
have  not  been  specially  educated  for  that  profession.  But 
I  am  sure  I  shall  like  it  much." 

"  You  have  an  opening  ?" 

"I  have  not  exactly  got  it,  but  I  have  advertised  for 
one." 

"  Lucy,  you  must  let  me  help  you !" 

"Not  at  all." 

"  You  need  not  think  it  would  compromise  you,  or  that 
I  am  indifferent  to  delicacy.  I  bear  in  mind  how  we 
stand.  It  is  very  unlikely  that  you  will  succeed  as  teach 
er  of  the  class  you  mention,  so  let  me  do  something  of  a 
different  kind  for  you.  Say  what  you  would  like,  and  it 
shall  be  done." 

•"No ;  if  I  can't  be  a  drawing-mistress  or  governess,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  I  shall  go  to  India  and  join  my 
brother." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  abroad,  anywhere,  everywhere  with 
you,  Lucy,  and  leave  this  place  and  its  associations  forever!" 

She  played  with  the  end  of  her  bonnet- string,  and 
hastily  turned  aside.  "  Don't  ever  touch  upon  that  kind 
of  topic  again,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  severity  not  free 
from  anger.  "It  simply  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to 
see  yon,  much  less  receive  any  guidance  from  you.  No, 
thank  you,  Mr.  Bar  net ;  you  can  do  nothing  for  me  at 
present ;  and  as  I  suppose  my  uncertainty  will  end  in  my 
leaving  for  India,  I  fear  you  never  will.  If  ever  I  think 
you  can  do  anything,  I  will  take  tne  trouble  to  ask  you. 
Till  then,  good-by." 

The  tone  of  her  latter  words  was  equivocal,  and  while 
he  remained  in  doubt  whether  a  gentle  irony  was  or  was 
not  inwrought  with  their  sound,  she  swept  lightly  round 
and  left  him  alone.  He  saw  her  form  get  smaller  and 
smaller  along  the  damp  belt  of  sea-sand  between  ebb  and 
flood  ;  and  when  she  had  vanished  round  the  cliff  into  the 
harbor-road,  he  himself  followed  in  the  same  direction. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  89 

That  her  hopes  from  an  advertisement  should  be  the 
single  thread  which  held  Lucy  Savile  in  England  was  too 
much  for  Barnet.  On  reaching  the  town  he  went  straight 
to  the  residence  of  Downe,  now  a  widower  with  four  chil 
dren.  The  young  motherless  brood  had  been  sent  to  bed 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier,  and  when  Barnet 
entered  he  found  Downe  sitting  alone.  It  was  the  same 
room  as  that  from  which  the  family  had  been  looking  out 
for  Downe  at  the  beginning  of  the  year,  when  Downe 
had  slipped  into  the  gutter  and  his  wife  had  been  so 
enviably  tender  towards  him.  The  old  neatness  had 
gone  from  the  house ;  articles  lay  in  places  which  could 
show  no  reason  for  their  presence,  as  if  momentarily  de 
posited  there  some  months  ago,  and  forgotten  ever  since ; 
there  were  no  flowers ;  things  were  jumbled  together  on 
the  furniture  which  should  have  been  in  cupboards;  and 
the  place  in  general  had  that  stagnant,  unrenovated  air 
which  usually  pervades  the  maimed  home  of  the  widower. 

Downe  soon  renewed  his  customary  full-worded  lament 
over  his  wife,  and  even  when  he  had  worked  himself  up 
to  tears,  went  on  volubly,  as  if  a  listener  were  a  luxury 
to  be  enjoyed  whenever  he  could  be  caught. 

"She  was  a  treasure  beyond  compare,  Mr.  Barnet!  I 
shall  never  see  such  another.  Nobody  now  to  nurse  me 
— nobody  to  console  me  in  those  daily  troubles,  you  know, 
Barnet,  which  make  consolation  so  necessary  to  a  nature 
like  mine.  It  would  be  unbecoming  to  repine,  for  her 
spirit's  home  was  elsewhere — the  tender  light  in  her  eyes 
always  showed  it ;  but  Jt  is  a  long  dreary  time  that  I 
have  before  me,  and  nobody  else  can  ever  fill  the  void 
left  in  my  heart  by  her  loss — nobody — nobody  !"  And 
Downe  wiped  his  eyes  again. 

"  She  was  a  good  woman  in  the  highest  sense,"  gravely 
answered  Barnet,  who,  though  Downe's  words  drew  gen 
uine  compassion  from  his  heart,  could  not  help  feeling 
that  a  tender  reticence  would  have  been  a  finer  tribute  to 
Mrs.  Downe's  really  sterling  virtues  than  such  a  second- 
class  lament  as  this. 


90  WESSEX  TALES. 

"I  have  something  to  show  you,"  Downe  resumed, 
producing  from  a  drawer  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  was 
an  elaborate  design  for  a  canopied  tomb.  "  This  has 
been  sent  me  by  the  architect,  but  it  is  not  exactly  what  I 
want." 

"You  have  got  Jones  to  do  it,  I  see,  the  man  who  is 
carrying  out  my  house,"  said  Barnet,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
signature  to  the  drawing. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  not  quite  what  I  want.  I  want  some 
thing  more  striking — more  like  a  tomb  I  have  seen  in  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral.  Nothing  less  will  do  justice  to  my 
feelings,  and  how  far  short  of  them  that  will  fall !" 

Barnet  privately  thought  the  design  a  sufficiently  im 
posing  one  as  it  stood,  even  extravagantly  ornate ;  but, 
feeling  that  he  had  no  right  to  criticise,  he  said,  gently, 
"Downe,  should  you  not  live  more  in  your  children's 
lives  at  the  present  time,  and  soften  the  sharpness  of  re 
gret  for  your  own  past  by  thinking  of  their  future?" 

"Yes,  yes;  but  what  can  I  do  more?"  asked  Downe, 
wrinkling  his  forehead  hopelessly. 

It  was  with  anxious  slowness  that  Barnet  produced  his 
reply — the  secret  object  of  his  visit  to-night.  "  Did  you 
not  say  one  day  that  you  ought  by  rights  to  get  a  gover 
ness  for  the  children  ?" 

Downe  admitted  that  he  had  said  so,  but  that  he  could 
not  see  his  way  to  it.  "The  kind  of  woman  I  should 
like  to  have,"  he  said,  "  would  be  rather  beyond  my 
means.  No;  I  think  I  shall  send  them  to  school  in  the 
town  when  they  are  old  enough  to  go  out  alone." 

"  Now  I  know  of  something  better  than  that.  The  late 
Lieutenant  Savile's  daughter,  Lucy,  wants  to  do  some 
thing  for  herself  in  the  way  of  teaching.  She  would  be 
inexpensive,  and  would  answer  your  purpose  as  well  as 
anybody  for  six  or  twelve  months.  She  would  probably 
come  daily  if  you  were  to  ask  her,  and  so  your  house 
keeping  arrangements  would  not  be  much  affected." 

"  I  thought  she  had  gone  away,"  said  the  solicitor, 
musing.  "  Where  does  she  live  ?" 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  91 

Barnet  tojd  him,  and  added  that,  if  Downe  should 
think  of  her  as  suitable,  he  would  do  well  to  call  as  soon 
as  possible  or  she  might  be  on  the  wing.  "If  you  do 
see  her,"  he  said,  "  it  would  be  advisable  not  to  mention 
my  name.  She  is  rather  stiff  in  her  ideas  of  me,  and  it 
might  prejudice  her  against  a  course  if  she  knew  that  I 
recommended  it." 

Downe  promised  to  give  the  subject  his  consideration, 
and  nothing  more  was  said  about  it  just  then.  But  when 
Barnet  rose  to  go,  which  was  not  till  nearly  bedtime,  he 
reminded  Downe  of  the  suggestion,  and  went  up  the 
street  to  his  own  solitary  home  with  a  sense  of  satisfac 
tion  at  his  promising  diplomacy  in  a  charitable  cause. 


VII. 

THE  walls  of  his  new  house  were  carried  up  nearly  to 
their  full  height.  By  a  curious  though  not  infrequent  re 
action,  Barnet's  feelings  about  that  unnecessary  structure 
had  undergone  a  change ;  he  took  considerable  interest  in 
its  progress  as  a  long-neglected  thing,  his  wife  before  her 
departure  having  grown  quite  weary  of  it  as  a  hobby. 
Moreover,  it  was  an  excellent  distraction  for  a  man  in  the 
unhappy  position  of  having  to  live  in  a  provincial  town 
with  nothing  to  do.  He  was  probably  the  first  of  his  line 
who  had  ever  passed  a  day  without  toil,  and  perhaps  some 
thing  like  an  inherited  instinct  disqualifies  such  men  for 
a  life  of  pleasant  inaction,  such  as  lies  in  the  power. of 
those  whose  leisure  is  not  a  personal  accident,  but  a  vast 
historical  accretion  which  has  become  part  of  their  nat 
ures. 

Thus  Barnet  got  into  a  way  of  spending  many  of  his 
leisure  hours  on  the  site  of  the  new  building,  and  he  might 
have  been  seen  on  most  days  at  this  time  trying  the  tem 
per  of  the  mortar  by  punching  the  joints  with  his  stick, 
looking  at  the  grain  of  a  floor-board,  and  meditating  where 


92  WESSEX  TALES. 

it  grew,  or  picturing  under  what  circumstances  the  last 
lire  would  be  kindled  in  the  at  present  sootless  chimney. 
One  day  when  thus  occupied  he  saw  three  children  pass 
by  in  the  company  of  a  fair  young  woman,  whose  sudden 
appearance  caused  him  to  flush  perceptibly. 

"Ah,  she  is  there,"  he  thought.  "That's  a  blessed 
thing." 

Casting  an  interested  glance  over  the  rising  building 
and  the  busy  workmen,  Lucy  Savile  and  the  little  Dowries 
passed  by  ;  and  after  that  time  it  became  a  regular  though 
almost  unconscious  custom  of  Barnet  to  stand  in  the  half- 
completed  house  and  look  from  the  ungarnished  windows 
at  the  governess  as  she  tripped  towards  the  sea-shore  with 
her  young  charges,  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing 
on  most  fine  afternoons.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occa 
sions,  when  he  had  been  loitering  on  the  first-floor  land 
ing,  near  the  hole  left  for  the  staircase,  not  yet  erected, 
that  there  appeared  above  the  edge  of  the  floor  a  little 
hat,  followed  by  a  little  head. 

Barnet  withdrew  through  a  door-way,  and  the  child 
came  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  stepping  on  to  the  floor  and 
crying  to  her  sisters  and  Miss  Savile  to  follow.  Another 
head  rose  above  the  floor,  and  another,  and  then  Lucy  her 
self  came  into  view.  The  troop  ran  hither  and  thither 
through  the  empty,  shaving -strewn  rooms,  and  Barnet 
came  forward. 

Lucy  uttered  a  small  exclamation ;  she  was  very  sorry 
that  she  had  intruded ;  she  had  not  the  least  idea  that  Mr. 
Barnet  was  there ;  the  children  had  come  up,  and  she  had 
followed. 

Barnet  replied  that  he  was  only  too  glad  to  see  them 
there.  "And  now,  let  me  show  you  the  rooms,"  he 
said. 

She  passively  assented,  and  he  took  her  round.  There 
was  not  much  to  show  in  such  a  bare  skeleton  of  a  house, 
but  he  made  the  most  of  it,  and  explained  the  different 
ornamental  fittings  that  were  soon  to  be  fixed  here  and 
there.  Lucy  made  but  few  remarks  in  reply,  though  she 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  93 

seemed  pleased  with  her  visit,  and  stole  away  down  .the 
ladder,  followed  by  her  companions. 

After  this  the  new  residence  became  yet  more  of  a  hob 
by  for  Barnet.  Downe's  children  did  not  forget  their 
iirst  visit,  and  when  the  windows  were  glazed,  and  the 
handsome  staircase  spread  its  broad  low  steps  into  the 
hall,  they  came  again,  prancing  in  unwearied  succession 
through  every  room  from  ground -floor  to  attics,  while 
Lucy  stood  waiting  for  them  at  the  door.  Barnet,  who 
rarely  missed  a  day  in  coming  to  inspect  progress,  stepped 
out  from  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  could  not  keep  them  out,"  she  said,  with  an  apolo 
getic  blush.  "I  tried  to  do  so  very  much;  but  they  are 
rather  wilful,  and  we  are  directed  to  walk  this  way  for 
the  sea  air." 

"  Do  let  them  make  the  house  their  regular  play -ground, 
and  you  yours,"  said  Barnet.  "  There  is  no  better  place 
for  children  to  romp  and  take  their  exercise  in  than  an 
empty  house,  particularly  in  muddy  or  damp  weather, 
such  as  we  shall  get  a  good  deal  of  now ;  and  this  place 
will  not  be  furnished  for  a  long,  long  time — perhaps  never. 
I  am  riot  at  all  decided  about  it." 

"  Oh,  but  it  must !"  replied  Lucy,  looking  round  at  the 
hall.  "The  rooms  are  excellent,  twice  as  high  as  ours; 
and  the  views  from  the  windows  are  so  lovely." 

"  I  dare  say — I  dare  say,"  he  said,  absently. 

"  Will  all  the  furniture  be  new  ?"  she  asked. 

"  AJ1  the  furniture  be  new — that's  a  thing  I  have  not 
thought  of.  In  fact,  I  only  come  here  and  look  on.  My 
father's  house  would  have  been  large  enough  for  me,  but 
another  person  had  a  voice  in  the  matter,  and  it  was  set 
tled  that  we  should  build.  However,  the  place  grows 
upon  me;  its  recent  associations  are  cheerful,  and  I  am 
getting  to  like  it  fast." 

A  certain  uneasiness  in  Lucy's  manner  showed  that  the 
conversation  was  taking  too  personal  a  turn  for  her.  "  Still, 
as  modern  tastes  develop,  people  require  more  room  to 
gratify  them  in,"  she  said,  withdrawing  to  call  the  chil- 


94  WESSEX  TALES. 

dren  ;  and  serenely  bidding  him  good-afternoon,  she  went 
on  her  way. 

Barnet's  life  at  this  period  was  singularly  lonely,  and 
yet  he  was  happier  than  he  could  have  expected.  His 
wife's  estrangement  and  absence,  which  promised  to  be 
permanent,  left  him  free  as  a  boy  in  his  movements,  and 
the  solitary  walks  that  he  took  gave  him  ample  oppor 
tunity  for  chastened  reflection  on  what  might  have  been 
his  lot  if  he  had  only  shown  wisdom  enough  to  claim  Lucy 
Savile  when  there  was  no  bar  between  their  lives,  and  she 
was  to  be  had  for  the  asking.  He  would  occasionally  call 
at  the  house  of  his  friend  Downe ;  but  there  was  scarcely 
enough  in  common  between  their  two  natures  to  make 
them  more  than  friends  of  that  excellent  sort  whose  per 
sonal  knowledge  of  each  other's  history  and  character  is 
always  in  excess  of  intimacy,  whereby  they  are  not  so 
likely  to  be  severed  by  a  clash  of  sentiment  as  in  cases 
where  intimacy  springs  up  in  excess  of  knowledge.  Lucy 
was  never  visible  at  these  times,  being  either  engaged  in 
the  school-room,  or  in  taking  an  airing  out-of-doors;  but, 
knowing  that  she  was  now  comfortable,  and  had  given  up 
the,  to  him,  depressing  idea  of  going  off  to  the  other  side 
of  the  globe,  he  was  quite  content. 

The  new  house  had  so  far  progressed  that  the  gardeners 
were  beginning  to  grass  down  the  front.  During  an  after 
noon  which  he  was  passing  in  marking  the  curve  for  the 
carriage-drive,  he  beheld  her  coming  in  boldly  towards 
him  from  the  road.  Hitherto  Barnet  had  only  caught 
her  on  the  premises  by  stealth,  and  this  advance  seemed 
to  show  that  at  last  her  reserve  had  broken  down. 

A  smile  gained  strength  upon  her  face  as  she  approached, 
and  it  was  quite  radiant  when  she  came  up,  and  said,  with 
out  a  trace  of  embarrassment, "  I  find  I  owe  you  a  hun 
dred  thanks — and  it  comes  to  me  quite  as  a  surprise !  It 
was  through  your  kindness  that  I  was  engaged  by  Mr. 
Downe.  Believe  me,  Mr.  Barnet,  I  did  not  know  it  until 
yesterday,  or  I  should  have  thanked  you  long  and  long 
ago!" 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  95 

"I  had  offended  yon — just  a  trifle — at  the  time,  I  think?" 
said  Barnet,  smiling,  "  and  it  was  best  that  you  should  not 
know." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  returned,  hastily.  "  Don't  allude  to  that ; 
it  is  past  and  over,  and  we  will  let  it  be.  The  house  is 
finished  almost,  is  it  not?  How  beautiful  it  will  look 
when  the  evergreens  are  grown !  Do  you  call  the  style 
Palladian,  Mr.  Barnet?" 

"  I — really  don't  quite  know  what  it  is.  Yes,  it  must  be 
Palladian,  certainly.  But  I'll  ask  Jones,  the  architect ;  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  not  thought  much  about  the  style ; 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  choosing  it,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

She  would  not  let  him  harp  on  this  gloomy  refrain,  and 
talked  on  bright  matters  till  she  said,  producing  a  small 
roll  of  paper  which  he  had  noticed  in  her  hand  all  the 
while, "Mr.  Downe  wished  me  to  bring  you  this  revised 
drawing  of  the  late  Mrs.  Downe's  tomb,  which  the  archi 
tect  has  just  sent  him.  He  would  like  you  to  look  it 
over." 

The  children  came  up  with  their  hoops,  and  she  went 
off  with  them  down  the  harbor-road  as  usual.  Barnet  had 
been  glad  to  get  those  words  of  thanks;  he  had  been 
thinking  for  many  months  that  he  would  like  her  to 
know  of  his  share  in  finding  her  a  home,  such  as  it  was; 
and  what  he  could  not  do  for  himself  Downe  had  now 
kindly  done  for  him.  He  returned  to  his  desolate  house 
with  a  lighter  tread ;  though  in  reason  he  hardly  knew 
why  his  tread  should  be  light. 

On  examining  the  drawing,  Barnet  found  that,  instead 
of  the  vast  altar-tomb  and  canopy  Downe  had  determined 
on  at  their  last  meeting,  it  was  to  be  a  more  modest  me 
morial  even  than  had  been  suggested  by  the  architect;  a 
coped  tomb  of  good  solid  construction,  with  no  useless 
elaboration  at  all.  Barnet  was  truly  glad  to  see  that 
Downe  had  come  to  reason  of  his  own  accord ;  and  he  re 
turned  the  drawing  with  a  note  of  approval. 

He  followed  up  the  house-work  as  before,  and  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  rooms,  occasionally  gazing  from 


96  WESSEX  TALES. 

the  windows  over  the  bulging  green  hills  and  the  quiet 
harbor  that  lay  between  them,  he  murmured  words  and 
fragments  of  words  which,  if  listened  to,  would  have  re* 
vealed  all  the  secrets  of  his  existence.  Whatever  his 
reason  in  going  there,  Lucy  did  not  call  again ;  the  walk 
to  the  shore  seemed  to  be  abandoned ;  he  must  have 
thought  it  as  well  for  both  that  it  should  be  so,  for  he  did 
not  go  anywhere  out  of  his  accustomed  ways  to  endeavor 
to  discover  her. 


VIII. 

THE  winter  and  the  spring  had  passed,  and  the  house 
was  complete.  It  was  a  fine  morning  in  the  early  part  of 
June,  and  Barnet,  though  not  in  the  habit  of  rising  early, 
had  taken  a  long  walk  before  breakfast,  returning  by  way 
of  the  new  building.  A  sufficiently  exciting  cause  of  his 
restlessness  to-day  might  have  been  the  intelligence  which 
had  reached  him  the  night  before,  that  Lucy  Savile  was 
going  to  India  after  all,  and  notwithstanding  the  repre 
sentations  of  her  friends  that  such  a  journey  was  unadvis- 
able  in  many  wa}7s  for  an  unpractised  girl,  unless  some 
more  definite  advantage  lay  at  the  end  of  it  than  she 
could  show  to  be  the  case.  Barnet's  walk  up  the  slope  to 
the  building  betrayed  that  he  was  in  a  dissatisfied  mood. 
He  hardly  saw  that  the  dewy  time  of  day  lent  an  unusual 
freshness  to  the  bushes  and  trees  which  had  so  recently 
put  on  their  summer  habit  of  heavy  leafage,  and  made  his 
newly-laid  lawn  look  as  well  established  as  an  old  manorial 
meadow.  The  house  had  been  so  adroitly  placed  between 
six  tall  elms,  which  were  growing  on  the  site  beforehand, 
that  they  seemed  like  real  ancestral  trees ;  and  the  rooks, 
young  and  old,  cawed  melodiously  to  their  visitor. 

The  door  was  not  locked,  and  he  entered.  ~No  work 
men  appeared  to  be  present,  and  he  walked  from  sunny 
window  to  sunny  window  of  the  empty  rooms,  with  a 
sense  of  seclusion  which  might  have  been  very  pleasant 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  97 

but  for  the  antecedent  knowledge  that  his  almost  paternal 
care  of  Lucy  Savile  was  to  be  thrown  away  by  her  wilful- 
ness.  Footsteps  echoed  through  an  adjoining  room ;  and 
bending  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  he  perceived  Mr.  Jones, 
the  architect.  He  had  come  to  look  over  the  building 
before  giving  the  contractor  his  final  certificate.  They 
walked  over  the  house  together.  Everything  was  finished 
except  the  papering ;  there  were  the  latest  improvements 
of  the  period  in  bell -hanging,  ventilating,  smoke -jacks, 
fire-grates,  and  French  windows.  The  business  was  soon 
ended,  and  Jones,  having  directed  Barnet's  attention  to  a 
roll  of  wall-paper  patterns  which  lay  on  a  bench  for  his 
choice,  was  leaving  to  keep  another  engagement,  when 
Barnet  said,  "Is  the  tomb  finished  yet  for  Mrs.  Downa?" 

"  Well,  yes ;  it  is  at  last,"  said  the  architect,  coming 
back  and  speaking  as  if  he  were  in  a  mood  to  make  a  con 
fidence.  "I  have  had  no  end  of  trouble  in  the  matter, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  heartily  glad  it  is  over." 

Barnet  expressed  his  surprise.  "  I  thought  poor  Downe 
had  given  up  those  extravagant  notions  of  his  ?  Then  he 
has  gone  back  to  the  altar  and  canopy  after  all  ?  Well, 
he  is  to  be  excused,  poor  fellow !" 

"  Oh  no,  he  has  not  at  all  gone  back  to  them — quite  the 
reverse,"  Jones  hastened  to  say.  "He  has  so  reduced  de 
sign  after  design,  that  the  whole  thing  has  been  nothing 
but  waste  labor  for  me ;  till  in  the  end  it  has  become  a 
common  head-stone,  which  a  mason  put  up  in  half  a  day." 

"A  common  head-stone?"  said  Barnet. 

"  Yes.  I  held  out  for  some  time  for  the  addition  of  a 
foot-stone  at  least.  But  he  said,  <  Oh  no,  he  couldn't  af 
ford  it.' " 

"  Ah,  well,  his  family  is  growing  up,  poor  fellow,  and 
his  expenses  are  getting  serious." 

"  Yes,  exactly,"  said  Jones,  as  if  the  subject  were  none 
of  his.  And  again  directing  Barnet's  attention  to  the 
wall-papers,  the  bustling  architect  left  him  to  keep  some 
other  engagement. 

"  A  common  head-stone,"  murmured  Barnet,  left  again 
7 


98  WESSEX  TALES. 

to  himself*  He  mused  a  minute  or  two,  and  next  began 
looking  over  and  selecting  from  the  patterns ;  but  had 
not  long  been  engaged  in  the  work  when  he  heard  an 
other  footstep  on  the  gravel  without,  and  somebody  enter 
the  open  porch. 

Barnet  went  to  the  door — it  was  his  man-servant  in 
search  of  him. 

"I  have  been  trying  for  some  time  to  find  you,  sir,"  he 
said.  "  This  letter  has  come  by  the  post,  and  it  is  marked 
immediate.  And  there's  this  one  from  Mr.  Downe,  who 
called  just  now  wanting  to  see  you."  He  searched  his 
pocket  for  the  second. 

Barnet  took  the  first  letter ;  it  had  a  black  border,  and 
bore  the  London  postmark.  It  was  not  in  his  wife's  hand 
writing,  or  in  that  of  any  person  he  knew ;  but  conjecture 
soon  ceased  as  he  read  the  page,  wherein  he  was  briefly 
informed  that  Mrs.  Barnet  had  died  suddenly  on  the  pre 
vious  day,  at  the  furnished  villa  she  had  occupied  near 
London. 

Barnet  looked  vaguely  round  the  empty  hall,  at  the 
blank  walls,  out  of  the  door-way.  Drawing  a  long,  pal 
pitating  breath,  and  with  eyes  downcast,  he  turned  and 
climbed  the  stairs  slowly,  like  a  man  who  doubted  their 
stability.  The  fact  of  his  wife  having,  as  it  wrere,  died 
once  already,  and  lived  on  again,  had  entirely  dislodged 
the  possibility  of  her  actual  death  from  his  conjecture. 
He  went  to  the  landing,  leaned  over  the  balusters,  and 
after  a  reverie,  of  whose  duration  he  had  but  the  faintest 
notion,  turned  to  the  window  and  stretched  his  gaze  to 
the  cottage  farther  down  the  road,  which  was  visible  from 
his  landing,  and  from  which  Lucy  still  walked  to  the  so 
licitor's  house  by  a  cross  path.  The  faint  words  that  came 
from  his  moving  lips  were  simply,  "At  last!" 

Then,  almost  involuntarily,  Barnet  fell  down  on  his 
knees  and  murmured  some  incoherent  words  of  thanks 
giving.  Surely  his  virtue  in  restoring  his  wife  to  life 
had  been  rewarded !  But,  as  if  the  impulse  struck  un 
easily  on  his  conscience,  he  quickly  rose,  brushed  the  dust 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  99 

from  his  trousers,  and  set  himself  to  think  of  his  next 
movements.  lie  could  not  start  for  London  for  some 
hours ;  and  as  he  had  no  preparations  to  make  that  could 
not  be  made  in  half  an  hour,  he  mechanically  descended 
and  resumed  his  occupation  of  turning  over  the  wall-pa 
pers.  They  had  all  got  brighter  for  him,  those  papers. 
It  was  all  changed ;  who  would  sit  in  the  rooms  that  they 
were  to  line?  He  went  on  to  muse  upon  Lucy's  conduct 
in  so  frequently  coming  to  the  house  with  the  children ; 
her  occasional  blush  in  speaking  to  him;  her  evident  in 
terest  in  him.  What  woman  can  in  the  long  run  avoid 
being  interested  in  a  man  whom  she  knows  to  be  devoted 
to  her  ?  If  human  solicitation  could  ever  effect  anything, 
there  should  be  no  going  to  India  for  Lucy  now.  All  the 
papers  previously  chosen  seemed  wrong  in  their  shades, 
and  he  began  from  the  beginning  to  choose  again. 

While  entering  on  the  task  he  heard  a  forced  "Ahem  !" 
from  without  the  porch,  evidently  uttered  to  attract  his 
attention,  and  footsteps  again  advancing  to  the  door.  His 
man,  whom  he  had  quite  forgotten  in  his  mental  turmoil, 
was  still  waiting  there. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  the  man  said  from  round  the 
door-way,  "  but  here's  the  note  from  Mr.  Downe  that  you 
didn't  take.  He  called  just  after  you  went  out,  and  as  he 
couldn't  wait,  he  wrote  this  on  your  study  table." 

He  handed  in  the  letter — no  black-bordered  one  now, 
but  a  practical-looking  note  in  the  well-known  writing  of 
the  solicitor. 

"  DEAR  BARNET  " — it  ran — "  Perhaps  you  will  be  pre 
pared  for  the  information  I  am  about  to  give — that  Lucy 
Savile  and  myself  are  going  to  be  married  this  morning. 
I  have  hitherto  said  nothing  as  to  my  intention  to  any  of 
my  friends,  for  reasons  which  I  am  sure  you  will  fully 
appreciate.  The  crisis  has  been  brought  about  by  her  ex 
pressing  her  intention  to  join  her  brother  in  India.  I  then 
discovered  that  I  could  not  do  without  her. 

"It  is  to  be  quite  a  private  wedding;  but  it  is  my  par- 


100  WESSEX  TALES. 

ticular  wish  that  you  come  down  here  quietly  at  ten,  and 
go  to  church  with  us ;  it  will  add  greatly  to  the  pleas 
ure  I  shall  experience  in  the  ceremony,  and,  I  believe,  to 
Lucy's  also.  I  have  called  on  you  very  early  to  make  the 
request,  in  the  belief  that  I  should  find  you  at  home,  but 
you  are  beforehand  with  me  in  your  early  rising. 
"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  C.  DOWNE." 

"  Need  I  wait,  sir  ?"  said  the  servant,  after  a  dead  si 
lence. 

"That  will  do,  William.  No  answer,"  said  Barnet, 
calmly. 

When  the  man  had  gone,  Barnet  reread  the  letter. 
Turning  eventually  to  the  wall-papers,  which  he  had  been 
at  such  pains  to  select,'  he  deliberately  tore  them  into 
halves  and  quarters,  and  threw  them  into  the  empty,  fire 
place.  Then  he  went  out  of  the  house,  locked  the  door, 
and  stood  in  the  front  a  while.  Instead  of  returning  into 
the  town,  he  went  down  the  harbor-road  and  thoughtfully 
lingered  about  by  the  sea,  near  the  spot  where  the  body 
of  Downe's  late  wife  had  been  found  and  brought  ashore. 

Barnet  was  a  man  with  a  rich  capacity  for  misery,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  exercised  it  to  its  fullest  extent 
now.  The  events  that  had,  as  it  were,  dashed  themselves 
together  into  one  half-hour  of  this  day  showed  that  curi 
ous  refinement  of  cruelty  in  their  arrangement  which 
often  proceeds  from  the  bosom  of  the  whimsical  god  at 
other  times  known  as  blind  Circumstance.  That  his  few 
minutes  of  hope  between  the  reading  of  the  first  and  sec 
ond  letters  had  carried  him  to  extraordinary  heights  of 
rapture  was  proved  by  the  immensity  of  his  suffering 
now.  The  sun  blazing  into  his  face  would  have  showed 
a  close  watcher  that  a  horizontal  line,  which  he  had  never 
noticed  before,  but  which  was  never  to  be  gone  thereafter, 
was  somehow  gradually  forming  itself  in  the  smooth  of 
his  forehead.  His  eyes,  of  a  light  hazel,  had  a  curious 
look  which  can  only  be  described  by  the  word  bruised ; 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  101 

the  sorrow  that  looked  from  them  being  largely  mixed 
with  the  surprise  of  a  man  taken  unawares. 

The  secondary  particulars  of  his  present  position,  too, 
were  odd  enough,  though  for  some  time  they  appeared  to 
engage  little  of  his  attention.  Not  a  soul  in  the  town 
knew,  as  yet,  of  his  wife's  death,  and  he  almost  owed 
Downe  the  kindness  of  not  publishing  it  till  the  day  was 
over — the  conjuncture,  taken  with  that  which  had  accom 
panied  the  death  of  Mrs.  Downe,  being  so  singular  as  to 
be  quite  sufficient  to  darken  the  pleasure  of  the  impressi 
ble  solicitor  to  a  cruel  extent,  if  made  known  to  him. 
But  as  Barnet  could  not  set  out  on  his  journey  to  London, 
where  his  wife  lay,  for  some  hours  (there  being  at  this 
date  no  railway  within  a  distance  of  eighty  miles),  no  great 
reason  existed  why  he  should  leave  the  town. 

Impulse  in  all  its  forms  characterized  Barnet,  and  when 
he  heard  the  distant  clock  strike  the  hour  of  ten,  his  feet 
began  to  carry  him  up  the  harbor-road  with  the  manner 
of  a  man  who  must  do  something  to  bring  himself  to  life. 
He  passed  Lucy  Savile's  old  house,  his  own  new  one,  and 
came  in  view  of  the  church.  Now  he  gave  a  perceptible 
start,  and  his  mechanical  condition  went  away.  Before 
the  church-gate  were  a  couple  of  carriages,  and  Barnet 
then  could  perceive  that  the  marriage  between  Downe 
and  Lucy  was  at  that  moment  being  solemnized  within. 
A  feeling  of  sudden,  proud  self-confidence,  an  indocile 
wish  to  walk  unmoved  in  spite  of  grim  environments, 
plainly  possessed  him,  and  when  he  reached  the  wicket- 
gate  he  turned  in  without  apparent  effort.  Pacing  up 
the  paved  foot-way,  he  entered  the  church  and  stood  for 
a  while  in  the  nave  passage.  A  group  of  people  was  stand 
ing  round  the  vestry  door ;  Barnet  advanced  through  these 
and  stepped  into  the  vestry. 

There  they  were  busily  signing  their  names.  Seeing 
Downe  about  to  look  round,  Barnet  averted  his  somewhat 
disturbed  face  for  a  second  or  two ;  when  he  turned  again 
front  to  front  he  was  calm  and  quite  smiling :  it  was  a 
creditable  triumph  over  himself,  and  deserved  to  be  re- 


102  WESSEX  TALES. 

membercd  in  his  native  town.  He  greeted  Downe  hearti 
ly,  offering  his  congratulations. 

It  seemed  as  if  Barnet  expected  a  half-guilty  look  upon 
Lucy's  face;  but  no,  save  the  natural  flush  and  flurry  en 
gendered  by  the  service  just  performed,  there  was  nothing 
whatever  in  her  bearing  which  showed  a  disturbed  mind ; 
her  gray-brown  eyes  carried  in  them  now  as  at  other  times 
the  well-known  expression  of  common-sensed  rectitude 
which  never  went  so  far  as  to  touch  on  hardness.  She 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  Downe  said,  warmly,  "I  wish 
you  could  have  come  sooner;  I  called  on  purpose  to  ask 
you.  You'll  drive  back  with  us  now?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Barnet;  "I  am  not  at  all  prepared  ;  but 
I  thought  I  would  look  in  upon  you  for  a  .moment,  even 
though  I  had  not  time  to  go  home  and  dress.  I'll  stand 
back  and  see  you  pass  out,  and  observe  the  effect  of  the 
spectacle  upon  myself  as  one  of  the  public." 

Then  Lucy  and  her  husband  laughed,  and  Barnet  laugh 
ed  and  retired ;  and  the  quiet  little  party  went  gliding 
down  the  nave  and  towards  the  porch,  Lucy's  new  silk 
dress  sweeping  with  a  smart  rustle  round  the  base-mould 
ings  of  the  ancient  font,  and  Downe's  little  daughters  fol 
lowing  in  a  state  of  round-eyed  interest  in  their  position, 
and  that  of  Lucy,  their  teacher  and  friend. 

So  Downe  was  comforted  after  his  Emily's  death,  which 
had  taken  place  twelve  months,  two  weeks,  and  three  days 
before  that  time. 

When  the  two  flys  had  driven  off  and  the  spectators 
had  vanished,  Barnet  followed  to  the  door  and  went  out 
into  the  sun.  He  took  no  more  trouble  to  preserve  a 
spruce  exterior;  his  step  was  unequal,  hesitating,  almost 
convulsive;  and  the  slight  changes  of  color  which  went 
on  in  his  face  seemed  refracted  from  some  inward  flame. 
In  the  church-yard  he  became  pale  as  a  summer  cloud, 
and  finding  it  not  easy  to  proceed,  he  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  tombstones  and  supported  his  head  with  his  hand. 

Hard  by  was  a  sexton  filling  up  a  grave  which  he  had 
not  found  time  to  finish  on  the  previous  evening.  Ob- 


FALLOW-TOWNSMEN.  103 

serving  Barnet,  he  went  up  to  him,  and  recognizing  him, 
said,  "  Shall  I  help  you  home,  sir  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  said  Barnet,  rousing  himself  and 
standing  up.  The  sexton  returned  to  his  grave,  followed  by 
Barnet,  who,  after  watching  him  a  while,  stepped  into  the 
grave,  now  nearly  filled,  and  helped  to  tread  in  the  earth. 

The  sexton  apparently  thought  his  conduct  a  little  sin 
gular,  but  he  made  no  observation,  and  when  the  grave 
was  full,  Barnet  suddenly  stopped,  looked  far  away,  and 
with  a  decided  step  proceeded  to  the  gate  and  vanished. 
The  sexton  rested  on  his  shovel  and  looked  after  him  for 
a  few  moments,  and  then  began  banking  up  the  mound. 

In  those  short  minutes  of  treading  in  the  dead  man 
Barnet  had  formed  a  design,  but  what  it  was  the  inhabi 
tants  of  that  town  did  not  for  some  long  time  imagine. 
He  went  home,  wrote  several  letters  of  business,  called  on 
his  lawyer,  an  old  man  of  the  same  place  who  had  been 
the  legal  adviser  of  Barnet's  father  before  him,  and  dur 
ing  the  evening  overhauled  a  large  quantity  of  letters  and 
other  documents  in  his  possession.  By  eleven  o'clock  the 
heap  of  papers  in  and  before  Barnet's  grate  had  reached 
formidable  dimensions,  and  he  began  to  burn  them.  This, 
owing  to  their  quantity,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  do  as  he 
had  expected,  and  he  sat  long  into  the  night  to  complete 
the  task. 

The  next  morning  Barnet  departed  for  London,  leaving 
a  note  for  Downe  to  inform  him  of  Mrs.  Barnet's  sudden 
death,  and  that  he  was  gone  to  bury  her;  but  when  a 
thrice  sufficient  time  for  that  purpose  had  elapsed,  he  was 
not  seen  again  in  his  accustomed  walks,  or  in  his  new 
house,  or  in  his  old  one.  He  was  gone  for  good,  nobody 
knew  whither.  It  was  soon  discovered  that  he  had  em 
powered  his  lawyer  to  dispose  of  all  his  property,  real  and 
personal,  in  the  borough,  and  pay  in  the  proceeds  to  the 
account  of  an  unknown  person  at  one  of  the  large  London 
banks.  The  person  was  by  some  supposed  to  be  himself 
under  an  assumed  name ;  but  few,  if  any,  had  certain 
knowledge  of  that  fact. 


104  WESSEX  'TALES. 

The  elegant  new  residence  was  sold  with  the  rest  of  his 
possessions ;  and  its  purchaser  was  no  other  than  Downe, 
now  a  thriving  man  in  the  borough,  and  one  whose  grow 
ing  family  and  new  wife  required  more  roomy  accommo 
dation  than  was  afforded  by  the  little  house  up  the  narrow 
side  street.  Barnet's  old  habitation  was  bought  by  the 
trustees  of  the  Congregational  Baptist  body  in  that  town, 
who  pulled  down  the  time-honored  dwelling  and  built  a 
new  chapel  on  its  site.  By  the  time  the  last  hour  of 
that,  to  Barnet,  eventful  year  had  chimed,  every  vestige  of 
him  had  disappeared  from  the  precincts  of  his  native 
place,  and  the  name  became  extinct  in  the  borough  of 
Port-Bredy,  after  having  been  a  living  force  therein  for 
more  than  two  hundred  years. 


IX. 

TWENTY-ONE  years  and  six  months  do  riot  pass  without 
setting  a  mark  even  upon  durable  stone  and  triple  brass ; 
upon  humanity  such  a  period  works  nothing  less  than 
transformation.  In  Barnet's  old  birthplace  vivacious 
young  children  with  bones  like  India-rubber  had  grown 
up  to  be  stable  men  and  women,  men  and  women  had 
dried  in  the  skin,  stiffened,  withered,  and  sunk  into  decrep 
itude  ;  while  selections  from  every  class  had  been  con 
signed  to  the  outlying  cemetery.  Of  inorganic  differences 
the  greatest  was  that  a  railway  had  invaded  the  town, 
tying  it  on  to  a  main  line  at  a  junction  a  dozen  miles  off. 
Barnet's  house  on  the  harbor -road,  once  so  insistently 
new,  had  acquired  a  respectable  mellowness,  with  ivy,  Vir 
ginia  creepers,  lichens,  damp  patches,  and  even  constitu 
tional  infirmities  of  its  own  like  its  elder  fellows.  Its 
architecture,  once  so  very  improved  and  modern,  had  al 
ready  become  stale  in  style,  without  having  reached  the 
dignity  of  being  old-fashioned.  Trees  about  the  harbor- 
road  had  increased  in  circumference  or  disappeared  under 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  105 

the  saw;  while  the  church  had  had  such  a  tremendous  prac 
tical  joke  played  upon  it  by  some  facetious  restorer  or  other 
as  to  be  scarce  recognizable  by  its  dearest  old  friends. 

During  this  long  interval  George  Barnet  had  never 
once  been  seen  or  heard  of  in  the  town  of  his  fathers. 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  market-day,  and  some  half-dozen 
middle-aged  farmers  and  dairy-men  were  lounging  round 
the  bar  of  the  Black  Bull  Hotel,  occasionally  dropping 
a  remark  to  one  another,  and  less  frequently  to  the  two 
barmaids  who  stood  within  the  pewter-topped  counter  in 
a  perfunctory  attitude  of  attention,  these  latter  sighing 
and  making  a  private  observation  to  each  other  at  odd 
intervals,  on  more  interesting  experiences  than  the  present. 
"  Days  get  shorter,"  said  one  of  the  dairy-men,  as  lie 
looked  towards  the  street,  and  noticed  that  the  lamplighter 
was  passing  by. 

The  farmers  merely  acknowledged  by  their  counte 
nances  the  propriety  of  this  remark,  and  finding  that  no 
body  else  spoke,  one  of  the  barmaids  said  "  yes,"  in  a  tone 
of  painful  duty. 

"  Come  fair-day  we  shall  have  to  light"  up  before  we 
start  for  home  along." 

"  That's  true,"  his  neighbor  conceded,  with  a  gaze  of 
blankness. 

"And  after  that  we  sha'n't  see  much  further  difference 
all's  winter." 

The  rest  were  not  unwilling  to  go  even  so  far  as  this. 
The  barmaid  sighed  again,  and  raised  one  of  her  hands 
from  the  counter  on  which  they  rested  to  scratch  the 
smallest  surface  of  her  face  with  the  smallest  of  her  fin 
gers.  She  looked  towards  the  door,  and  presently  re 
marked,  "  I  think  I  hear  the  'bus  coming  in  from  station." 
The  eyes  of  the  dairy-men  and  farmers  turned  to  the 
glass  door  dividing  the  hall  from  the  porch,  and  in  a  min 
ute  or  two  the  omnibus  drew  up  outside.  Then  there  was 
a  lumbering  down  of  luggage,  and  then  a  man  came  into 
the  hall,  followed  by  a  porter  with  a  portmanteau  on  his 
poll,  which  he  deposited  on  a  bench. 


106  WESSEX  TALES. 

The  stranger  was  an  elderly  person,  with  curly  ashen- 
white  hair,  a  deeply  creviced  outer  corner  to  each  eyelid, 
and  a  countenance  baked  by  innumerable  suns  to  the  color 
of  terra-cotta,  its  hue  and  that  of  his  hair  contrasting  like 
heat  and  cold  respectively.  He  walked  meditatively  and 
gently,  like  one  who  was  fearful  of  disturbing  his  own 
mental  equilibrium.  But  whatever  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
his  breast  had  evidently  made  him  co  accustomed  to  its 
situation  there  that  it  caused  him  little  practical  incon 
venience. 

He  paused  in  silence  while,  with  his  dubious  eyes  fixed 
on  the  barmaids,  he  seemed  to  consider  himself.  In  a 
moment  or  two  he  addressed  them,  and  asked  to  be  ac 
commodated  for  the  night.  As  he  waited  he  looked  curi 
ously  round  the  hall,  but  said  nothing.  As  soon  as  invited 
he  disappeared  up  the  staircase,  preceded  by  a  chamber 
maid  and  candle,  and  followed  by  a  lad  with  his  trunk. 
Not  a  soul  had  recognized  him. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  the  farmers  and  dairy 
men  had  driven  off  to  their  homesteads  in  the  country, 
he  carne  down-stairs,  took  a  biscuit  and  one  glass  of  wine, 
and  walked  out  into  the  town,  where  the  radiance  from 
the  shop-windows  had  grown  so  in  volume  of  late  years 
as  to  flood  with  cheerfulness  every  standing  cart,  barrow, 
stall,  and  idler  that  occupied  the  way-side,  whether  shabby 
or  genteel.  His  chief  interest  at  present  seemed  to  lie  in 
the  names  painted  over  the  shop-fronts  and  on  door-ways, 
as  far  as  they  were  visible;  these  now  differed  to  an 
ominous  extent  from  what  they  had  been  one-and-twenty 
years  before. 

The  traveller  passed  on  till  he  came  to  the  bookseller's, 
where  he  looked  in  through  the  glass  door.  A  fresh-faced 
young  man  was  standing  behind  the  counter;  otherwise 
the  shop  was  empty.  The  gray-haired  observer  entered, 
asked  for  some  periodical  by  way  of  paying  for  his  stand 
ing,  and  with  his  elbow  on  the  counter  began  to  turn  over 
the  pages  he  had  bought,  though  that  he  read  nothing  was 
obvious. 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  107 

At  length  he  said,  " Is  old  Mr.  Watkins  still  alive?"  in  a 
voice  which  had  a  curious  youthful  cadence  in  it  even  now. 

"  My  father  is  dead,  sir,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Ah,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  stranger.  "  But 
it  is  so  many  years  since  I  last  visited  this  town  that  I 
could  hardly  expect  it  should  be  otherwise."  After  a 
short  silence  he  continued,  "  And  is  the  firm  of  Barnet, 
Browse  &  Co.  still  in  existence  ? — they  used  to  be  large 
flax  merchants  and  twine-spinners  here  ?" 

"  The  firm  is  still  going  on,  sir,  but  they  have  dropped 
the  name  of  Barnet.  I  believe  that  was  a  sort  of  fancy 
name — at  least,  I  never  knew  of  any  living  Barnet.  'Tis 
now  Browse  &  Co." 

"And  does  Andrew  Jones  still  keep  on  as  architect?" 

"He's  dead,  sir." 

"And  the  vicar  of  St.  Mary's— Mr.  Mel  rose  ?" 

"  He's  been  dead  a  great  many  years." 

"  Dear  me !"  He  paused  yet  longer,  and  cleared  his 
voice.  "  Is  Mr.  Downe,  the  solicitor,  still  in  practice  ?" 

"No,  sir,  he's  dead.     He  died  about  seven  years  ago." 

Here  it  was  a  longer  silence  still ;  and  an  attentive  ob 
server  would  have  noticed  that  the  paper  in  the  stranger's 
hand  increased  its  imperceptible  tremor  to  a  visible  shake. 
The  gray-haired  gentleman  noticed  it  himself,  and  rested 
the  paper  on  the  counter.  "  Is  Mrs.  Downe  still  alive  ?" 
he  asked,  closing  his  lips  firmly  as  soon  as  the  words  were 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  dropping  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir,  she's  alive  and  well.  She's  living  at  the  old 
place." 

"In  East  Street?" 

"  Oh  no ;  at  Chateau  Ringdale.  I  believe  it  has  been 
in  the  family  for  some  generations." 

"  She  lives  with  her  children,  perhaps  ?" 

"No;  she  has  no  children  of  her  own.  There  were 
some  Miss  Downes;  I  think  they  were  Mr.  Downe's 
daughters  by  a  former  wife ;  but  they  are  married  and 
living  in  other  parts  of  the  town.  Mrs.  Downe  lives 
alone." 


108  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Quite  alone  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  quite  alone." 

The  newly  arrived  gentleman  went  back  to  the  hotel 
and  dined ;  after  which  he  made  some  change  in  his  dress, 
shaved  back  his  beard  to  the  fashion  that  had  prevailed 
twenty  years  earlier,  when  he  was  young  and  interesting, 
and  once  more  emerging,  bent  his  steps  in  the  direction 
of  the  harbor- road.  Just  before  getting  to  the  point 
where  the  pavement  ceased  and  the  houses  isolated  them 
selves,  he  overtook  a  shambling,  stooping,  unshaven  man, 
who  at  first  sight  appeared  like  a  professional  tramp,  his 
shoulders  having  a  perceptible  greasiness  as  they  passed 
under  the  gaslight.  Each  pedestrian  momentarily  turned 
and  regarded  the  other,  and  the  tramp -like  gentleman 
started  back. 

"Good— why— is  that  Mr.  Barnet?  'Tis  Mr.  Barnet, 
surely !" 

"  Yes ;  and  you  are  Charlson  ?" 

"  Yes — ah — you  notice  my  appearance.  The  Fates  have 
rather  ill-used  me.  By-the-bye,  that  fifty  pounds.  I  never 
paid  it,  did  I  ?  .  .  .  But  I  was  not  ungrateful !"  Here  the 
stooping  man  laid  one  hand  emphatically  in  the  palm  of 
the  other.  "  I  gave  you  a  chance,  Mr.  George  Barnet, 
which  many  men  would  have  thought  full  value  received 
— the  chance  to  marry  your  Lucy.  As  far  as  the  world 
was  concerned,  your  wife  was  a  drowned  woman,  hey  ?" 

"  Heaven  forbid  all  that,  Charlson  !" 

"Well,  well,  'twas  a  wrong  way  of  showing  gratitude, 
I  suppose.  And  now  a  drop  of  something  to  drink  for 
old  acquaintance  sake !  And  Mr.  Barnet,  she's  again  free 
— there's  a  chance  now  if  you  care  for  it — ha,  ha !"  And 
the  speaker  pushed  his  tongue  into  his  hollow  cheek  and 
slanted  his  eye  in  the  old  fashion. 

"I  know  all,"  said  Barnet,  quickly;  and  slipping  a 
small  present  into  the  hands  of  the  needy,  saddening  man, 
he  stepped  ahead  and  was  soon  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
town. 

He  reached  the  harbor-road,  and  paused  before  the  en- 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  109 

trance  to  a  well-known  house.  It  was  so  highly  bosomed 
in  trees  and  shrubs  planted  since  the  erection  of  the  build 
ing  that  one  would  scarcely  have  recognized  the  spot  as 
that  which  had  been  a  mere  neglected  slope  till  chosen  as 
a  site  for  a  dwelling.  He  opened  the  swing-gate,  closed 
it  noiselessly,  and  gently  moved  into  the  semicircular 
drive,  which  remained  exactly  as  it  had  been  marked  out 
by  Barnet  on  the  morning  when  Lucy  Savile  ran  in  to 
thank  him  for  procuring  her  the  post  of  governess  to 
Downe's  children.  But  the  growth  of  trees  and  bushes 
which  revealed  itself  at  every  step  was  beyond  all  ex 
pectation  ;  sunproof  and  moon  proof  bowers  vaulted  the 
walks,  and  the  walls  of  the  house  were  uniformly  bearded 
with  creeping  plants  as  high  as  the  first-floor  windows. 

After  lingering  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  dusk  of  the 
bending  boughs,  the  visitor  rang  the  door-bell,  and  on  the 
servant  appearing  he  announced  himself  as  "an  old  friend 
of  Mrs.  Downe's." 

The  hall  was  lighted,  but  not  brightly,  the  gas  being 
turned  low,  as  if  visitors  were  rare.  There  was  a  stagna 
tion  in  the  dwelling :  it  seemed  to  be  waiting.  Could  it 
really  be  waiting  for  him  ?  The  partitions  which  had 
been  probed  by  Barnet's  walking-stick  when  the  mortar 
was  green,  were  now  quite  brown  with  the  antiquity  of 
their  varnish,  and  the  ornamental  wood-work  of  the  stair 
case,  which  had  glistened  with  a  pale  yellow  newness 
when  first  erected,  was  now  of  a  rich  wine-color.  During 
the  servant's  absence  the  following  colloquy  could  be  dim 
ly  heard  through  the  nearly  closed  door  of  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  He  didn't  give  his  name  ?" 

"  He  only  said  <  An  old  friend,'  ma'am." 

"What  kind  of  gentleman  is  he?" 

"  A  staidish  gentleman,  with  gray  hair." 

The  voice  of  the  second  speaker  seemed  to  affect  the 
listener  greatly.  After  a  pause,  the  lady  said,  "Very 
well,  I  will  see  him." 

And  the  stranger  was  shown  in  face  to  face  with  the 


110  WESSEX  TALES. 

Lucy  who  had  once  been  Lucy  Savile.  The  round  cheek 
of  that  formerly  young  lady  had,  of  course,  alarmingly 
flattened  its  curve  in  her  modern  representative;  a  perva 
sive  grayness  overspread  her  once  dark  brown  hair,  like 
morning  rime  on  heather.  The  parting  down  the  middle 
was  wide  and  jagged ;  once  it  had  been  a  thin  white  line, 
a  narrow  crevice  between  two  high  banks  of  shade.  But 
there  was  still  enough  left  to  form  a  handsome  knob  be 
hind  ;  and  some  curls  beneath,  inwrought  with  a  few  hairs 
like  silver  wires,  were  very  becoming.  In  her  eyes  the 
only  modification  was  that  their  originally  mild  rectitude 
of  expression  had  become  a  little  more  stringent  than 
heretofore.  Yet  she  was  still  girlish — a  girl  who  had  been 
gratuitously  weighted  by  destiny  with  a  burden  of  five- 
and-forty  years  instead  of  her  proper  twenty. 

"  Lucy,  don't  you  know  me  ?"  he  said,  when  the  servant 
had  closed  the  door. 

"  I  knew  you  the  instant  I  saw  you !"  she  returned, 
cheerfully.  "I  don't  know  why,  but  I  always  thought 
you  would  come  back  to  your  old  town  again." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  then  they  sat  down.  "  They 
said  you  were  dead,"  continued  Lucy,  "  but  I  never  thought 
so.  We  should  have  heard  of  it  for  certain  if  you  had 
been." 

"It  is  a  very  long  time  since  we  met." 

"Yes;  what  you  must  have  seen,  Mr.  Barnet,  in  all 
these  roving  years,  in  comparison  with  what  I  have  seen 
in  this  quiet  place !"  Her  face  grew  more  serious.  "  You 
know  my  husband  has  been  dead  a  long  time?  I  am  a 
lonely  old  woman  now,  considering  what  I  have  been ; 
though  Mr.  Downe's  daughters — all  married — manage  to 
keep  me  pretty  cheerful." 

"  And  I  am  a  lonely  old  man,  and  have  been  all  these 
twenty  years." 

"But  where  have  you  kept  yourself?  And  why  did 
you  go  off  so  mysteriously  ?" 

"Well,  Lucy,  I  have  kept  myself  a  little  in  America, 
and  a  little  in  Australia,  a  little  in  India,  a  little  at  the 


FELLO  W-TO  WNSM  EN.  Ill 

Cape,  and  so  on  ;  I  have  not  stayed  in  any  place  for  a 
long  time,  as  it  seems  to  me,  and  yet  more  than  twenty 
years  have  flown.  But  when  people  get  to  my  age  two 
years  go  like  one !  Your  second  question,  why  did  I 
go  away  so  mysteriously,  is  surely  not  necessary.  You 
guessed  why,  didn't  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  never  once  guessed,"  she  said,  simply  ;  "  nor  did 
Charles,  nor  did  anybody,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  Well,  indeed !  Now  think  it  over  again,  and  then 
look  at  me,  and  say  if  you  can't  guess  ?" 

She  looked  him  in  the  face  with  an  inquiring  smile. 
"Surely  not  because  of  me?"  she  said,  pausing  at  the 
commencement  of  surprise. 

Barnet  nodded,  and  smiled  back  again ;  but  his  smile 
was  sadder  than  hers. 

"  Because  I  married  Charles  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  solely  because  you  married  him  on  the  day  I 
was  free  to  ask  you  to  marry  me.  My  wife  died  four- 
and-twenty  hours  before  you  went  to  church  with  Dowrie. 
The  fixing  of  my  journey  at  that  particular  moment  was 
because  of  her  funeral ;  but  once  away,  I  knew  I  should 
have  no  inducement  to  come  back,  and  took  my  steps  ac 
cordingly." 

Her  face  assumed  an  aspect  of  gentle  reflection,  and 
she  looked  up  and  down  his  form  with  great  interest  in 
her  eyes.  "  I  never  thought  of  it !"  she  said.  "  I  knew, 
of  course,  that  you  had  once  implied  some  warmth  of 
feeling  towards  me,  but  I  concluded  that  it  passed  off. 
And  I  have  always  been  under  the  impression  that  your 
wife  was  alive  at  the  time  of  my  marriage.  Was  it  not 
stupid  of  me  !  But  you  will  have  some  tea  or  something? 
I  have  never  dined  late,  you  know,  since  my  husband's 
death.  I  have  got  into  the  way  of  making  a  regular 
meal  of  tea.  You  will  have  some  tea  with  me,  will  you 
not?" 

The  travelled  man  assented  quite  readily,  and*tea  was 
brought  in.  They  sat  and  chatted  over  the  meal,  regard 
less  of  the  flying  hour.  "  Well,  well !"  said  Barnet,  pres- 


112  WESSEX   TALES. 

ently,  as  for  the  first  time  he  leisurely  jsurveyed  the  room; 
"how  like  it  all  is,  and  yet  how  different!  Just  where 
your  piano  stands  was  a  board  on  a  couple  of  trestles, 
bearing  the  patterns  of  wall-papers,  when  I  was  last  here. 
I  was  choosing  them — standing  in  this  way,  as  it  might 
be.  Then  my  servant  came  in  at  the  door,  and  handed 
me  a  note,  so.  It  was  from  Downe,  and  announced  that 
you  were  just  going  to  be  married  to  him.  I  chose  no 
more  wall-papers — tore  up  all  those  I  had  selected,  and 
left  the  house.  I  never  entered  it  again  till  now." 

"  Ah,  at  last  I  understand  it  all,"  she  murmured. 

They  had  both  risen  and  gone  to  the  fireplace.  The 
mantle  came  almost  on  a  level  with  her  shoulder,  which 
gently  rested  against  it,  and  Barnet  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  shelf  close  beside  her  shoulder.  "Lucy,"  he  said, 
"  better  late  than  never.  Will  you  marry  me  now  ?" 

She  started  back,  and  the  surprise  which  was  so  obvious 
in  her  wrought  even  greater  surprise  in  him  that  it  should 
be  so.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  she  had  been  quite 
blind  to  the  situation,  and  yet  all  reason  and  common- 
sense  went  to  prove  that  she  was  not  acting. 

"  You  take  me  quite  unawares  by  such  a  question !"  she 
said,  with  a  feverish  laugh  of  uneasiness.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  shown  any  embarrassment  at  all.  "  Why," 
she  added,  "  I  couldn't  marry  you  for  the  world." 

"  Not  after  all  this !     Why  not  P 

"It  is — I  would — I  really  think  I  may  say  it — I  would 
upon  the  whole  rather  marry  you,  Mr.  Barnet,  than  any 
other  man  I  have  ever  met,  if  I  ever  dreamed  of  marriage 
again.  But  I  don't  dream  of  it — it  is  quite  out  of  my 
thoughts;  I  have  not  the  least  intention  of  marrying 
again." 

"But — on  my  account — couldn't  you  alter  your  plans 
a  little?  Come!" 

"  Dear  Mr.  Barnet,"  she  said,  with  a  little  flutter,  "  I 
would  on  your  account  if  on  anybody's  in  existence.  But 
you  don't  know  in  the  least  what  it  is  you  are  asking — 
such  an  impracticable  thing— I  won't  say  ridiculous,  of 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN.  113 

course,  because  I  see  that  you  are  really  in  earnest,  and 
earnestness  is  never  ridiculous  to  my  mind." 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Barnet,  more  slowly,  dropping  her 
hand,  which  he  had  taken  at  the  moment  of  pleading,  "I 
am  in  earnest.  The  resolve,  two  months  ago,  at  the  Cape, 
to  come  back  once  more  was,  it  is  true,  rather  sudden,  and 
as  I  see  now,  not  well  considered.  But  I  am  in  earnest 
in  asking." 

"And  I  in  declining.  With  all  good  feeling  and  all 
kindness,  let  me  say  that  I  am  quite  opposed  to  the  idea 
of  marrying  a  second  time." 

"  Well,  no  harm  has  been  done,"  he  answered,  with  the 
same  subdued  and  tender  humorousness  that  he  had 
shown  on  such  occasions  in  early  life.  "  If  you  really 
won't  accept  me,  I  must  put  up  with  it,  I  suppose."  His 
eye  fell  on  the  clock  as  he  spoke.  "  Had  you  any  notion 
that  it  was  so  late  ?"  he  asked.  "  How  absorbed  I  have 
been !" 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  hall,  helped  him  to  put 
on  his  overcoat,  and  let  him  out  of  the  house  herself. 

"  Good  -  night,"  said  Barnet,  on  the  door  -  step,  as  the 
lamp  shone  in  his  face.  "  You  are  not  offended  with 
me  3" 

"Certainly  not.     Nor  you  with  me?" 

"I'll  consider  whether  I  am  or  not,"  he  pleasantly  re 
plied.  "  Good-night." 

She  watched  him  safely  through  the  gate;  and  when 
his  footsteps  had  died  away  upon  the  road,  closed  the 
door  softly  and  returned  to  the  room.  Here  the  modest 
widow  long  pondered  his  speeches,  with  eyes  dropped  to 
an  unusually  low  level.  Barnet's  urbanity  under  the 
blow  of  her  refusal  greatly  impressed  her.  After  having 
his  long  period  of  probation  rendered  useless  by  her  de 
cision,  he  had  shown  no  anger,  and  philosophically  taken 
her  words  as  if  he  deserved  no  better  ones.  It  was  very 
gentlemanly  of  him,  certainly;  it  was  more  than  gentle 
manly  :  it  was  heroic  and  grand.  The  more  she  medi 
tated,  the  more  she  questioned  the  virtue  of  her  conduct 


114  WESSEX   TALES. 

in  checking  him  so  peremptorily,  and  went  to  her  bed 
room  in  a  mood  of  dissatisfaction.  On  looking  in  the 
glass  she  was  reminded  that  there  was  not  so  much  re 
maining  of  her  former  beauty  as  to  make  his  frank  decla 
ration  an  impulsive  natural  homage  to  her  cheeks  and 
eyes ;  it  must  have  undoubtedly  arisen  from  an  old 
stanch  feeling  of  his,  deserving  tenderest  consideration. 
She  recalled  to  her  mind  with  much  pleasure  that  he  had 
told  her  he  was  staying  at  the  Black  Bull  Hotel ;  so  that 
if,  after  waiting  a  day  or  two,  he  should  not,  in  his  mod 
esty,  call  again,  she  might  then  send  him  a  nice  little 
note.  To  alter  her  views  for  the  present  was  far  from 
her  intention ;  but  she  would  allow  herself  to  be  in 
duced  to  reconsider  the  case,  as  any  generous  woman 
ought  to  do. 

The  morrow  came  and  passed,  and  Mr.  Barnet  did  not 
drop  in.  At  every  knock,  light  youthful  hues  flew  across 
her  cheek ;  and  she  was  abstracted  in  the  presence  of  her 
other  visitors.  In  the  evening  she  walked  about  the 
house,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  herself ;  the  condi 
tions  of  existence  seemed  totalty  different  from  those 
which  ruled  only  four-and-twenty  short  hours  ago.  What 
had  been  at  first  a  tantalizing  elusive  sentiment  was  get 
ting  acclimatized  within  her  as  a  definite  hope,  and  her 
person  was  so  informed  by  that  emotion  that  she  might 
almost  have  stood  as  its  emblematical  representative  by 
the  time  the  clock  struck  ten.  In  short,  an  interest  in 
Barnet  precisely  resembling  that  of  her  earl}7  youth  led 
her  present  heart  to  belie  her  yesterday's  words  to  him, 
and  she  longed  to  see  him  again. 

The  next  day  she  walked  out  early,  thinking  she  might 
meet  him  in  the  street.  The  growing  beauty  of  her  ro 
mance  absorbed  her,  and  she  went  from  the  street  to  the 
fields,  and  from  the  fields  to  the  shore  without  any  con 
sciousness  of  distance,  till  reminded  by  her  weariness  that 
she  could  go  no  farther.  He  had  nowhere  appeared.  In 
the  evening  she  took  a  step  which  under  the  circumstances 
seemed  justifiable;  she  wrote  a  note  to  him  at  the  hotel, 


FELLOW-TOWNSMEN".  115 

inviting  him  to  tea  with  her  at  seven  precisely,  and  sign 
ing  her  note  "  Lucy." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  messenger  carne  back.  Mr. 
Barnet  had  left  the  hotel  early  in  the  morning  of  the  day 
before,  but  he  had  stated  that  he  would  probably  return 
in  the  course  of  the  week. 

The  note  was  sent  back  to  be  given  to  him  immediately 
on  his  arrival. 

There  was  no  sign  from  the  inn  that  this  desired  event 
had  occurred,  either  the  next  day  or  the  day  following. 
On  both  nights  she  had  been  restless,  and  had  scarcely 
slept  an  hour. 

On  the  Saturday,  putting  off  all  diffidence,  Lucy  went 
herself  to  the  Black  Bull,  and  questioned  the  staff  closely. 

Mr.  Barnet  had  cursorily  remarked  when  leaving  that 
he  might  return  on  the  Thursday  or  Friday,  but  they  were 
directed  not  to  reserve  a  room  for  him  unless  he  should 
write. 

He  had  left  no  address. 

Lucy  sorrowfully  took  back  her  note,  went  home,  and 
resolved  to  wait. 

She  did  wait — years  and  years — but  Barnet  never  reap 
peared. 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP. 


i. 

THE  north  road  from  Casterbridge  is  tedious  and  lonely, 
especially  in  winter-time.  Along  a  part  of  its  course  it 
connects  with  Holloway  Lane,  a  monotonous  track  without 
a  village  or  hamlet  for  many  miles,  and  with  very  seldom 
a  turning.  Unapprised  wayfarers  who  are  too  old,  or  too 
young,  or  in  other  respects  too  weak  for  the  distance  to 
be  traversed,  but  who,  nevertheless,  have  to  walk  it,  say, 
as  they  look  wistfully  ahead,  "  Once  at  the  top  of  that  hill, 
and  I  must  surely  see  the  end  of  Holloway  Lane !"  But 
they  reach  the  hill-top,  and  Holloway  Lane  stretches  in 
front  as  mercilessly  as  before. 

Some  few  years  ago  a  certain  farmer  was  riding  through 
this  lane  in  the  gloom  of  a  winter  evening.  The  farmer's 
friend,  a  dairy-man,  was  riding  beside  him.  A  few  paces 
in  the  rear  rode  the  farmer's  man.  All  three  were  well 
horsed  on  strong,  round-barrelled  cobs;  and  to  be  well 
horsed  was  to  be  in  better  spirits  about  Holloway  Lane 
than  poor  pedestrians  could  attain  to  during  its  passage. 

But  the  farmer  did  not  talk  much  to  his  friend  as  he 
rode  along.  The  enterprise  which  had  brought  him  there 
filled  his  mind  ;  for  in  truth  it  was  important.  Not  alto 
gether  so  important  was  it,  perhaps,  when  estimated  by 
its  value  to  society  at  large;  but  if  the  true  measure  of  a 
deed  be  proportionate  to  the  space  it  occupies  in  the  heart 
of  him  who  undertakes  it,  Farmer  Charles  Barton's  busi 
ness  to-night  could  hold  its  own  with  the  business  of 
kings. 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP.  11 7 

He  was  a  large  farmer.  His  turnover,  as  it  is  called, 
was  probably  thirty  thousand  pounds  a  year.  He  had  a 
great  many  draught-horses,  a  great  many  milch  cows,  and 
of  sheep  a  multitude.  This  comfortable  position  was, 
however,  none  of  his  own  making.  It  had  been  created 
by  his  father,  a  man  of  a  very  different  stamp  from  the 
present  representative  of  the  line. 

Darton  the  father  had  been  a  one-ideaed  character, 
with  a  buttoned-up  pocket  and  a  chink-like  eye  brimming 
with  commercial  subtlety.  In  Darton  the  son  this  trade 
subtlety  had  become  transmuted  into  emotional,  and  the 
harshness  had  disappeared ;  he  would  have  been  called  a 
sad  man  but  for  his  constant  care  not  to  divide  himself 
from  lively  friends  by  piping  notes  out  of  harmony  with 
theirs.  Contemplative,  he  allowed  his  mind  to  be  a  quiet 
meeting-place  for  memories  and  hopes.  So  that,  naturally 
enough,  since  succeeding  to  the  agricultural  calling,  and 
up  to  his  present  age  of  thirty- two,  he  had  neither  ad 
vanced  nor  receded  as  a  capitalist — a  stationary  result 
which  did  not  agitate  one  of  his  unambitious,  unstrategic 
nature,  since  he  had  all  that  he  desired.  The  motive  of 
his  expedition  to-night  showed  the  same  absence  of  anx 
ious  regard  for  Number  One. 

The  party  rode  on  in  the  slow,  safe  trot  proper  to  night 
time  and  bad  roads,  Farmer  Darton's  head  jigging  rather 
unromantically  up  and  down  against  the  sky,  and  his  mo 
tions  being  repeated  with  bolder  emphasis  by  his  friend 
Japheth  Johns ;  while  those  of  the  latter  were  travestied 
in  jerks  still  less  softened  by  art  in  the  person  of  the  lad 
who  attended  them.  A  pair  of  whitish  objects  hung  one 
on  each  side  of  the  latter,  bumping  against  him  at  each 
step,  and  still  further  spoiling  the  grace  of  his  seat.  On 
close  inspection  they  might  have  been  perceived  to  be 
open  rush  baskets — one  containing  a  turkey,  and  the  other 
some  bottles  of  wine. 

"  D'ye  feel  ye  can  meet  your  fate  like  a  man,  neighbor 
Darton  ?"  asked  Johns,  breaking  a  silence  which  had  lasted 
while  five-and-twenty  hedge-row  trees  had  glided  by. 


118  WESSEX  TALES. 

Mr.  Darton,  with  a  half-laugh,  murmured,  "Ay,  call  it 
my  fate!  Hanging  and  wiving  go  by  destiny."  And 
then  they  were  silent  again. 

The  darkness  thickened  rapidly,  at  intervals  shutting 
down  on  the  land  in  a  perceptible  flap  like  the  wave  of  a 
wing.  The  customary  close  of  day  was  accelerated  by  a 
simultaneous  blurring  of  the  air.  With  the  fall  of  night 
had  come  a  mist  just  damp  enough  to  incommode,  but  not 
sufficient  to  saturate  them.  Countrymen  as  they  were — 
born,  as  may  be  said,  with  only  an  open  door  between 
them  and  the  four  seasons — they  regarded  the  mist  but  as 
an  added  obscuration,  and  ignored  its  humid  quality. 

They  were  travelling  in  a  direction  that  was  enlivened 
by  no  modern  current  of  traffic,  the  place  of  Darton's  pil 
grimage  being  an  old-fashioned  village — one  of  the  Hin- 
tocks  (several  of  which  lay  thereabout) — where  the  people 
make  the  best  cider  and  cider -wine  in  all  Wessex,  and 
where  the  dunghills  smell  of  pomace  instead  of  stable 
refuse  as  elsewhere.  The  lane  was  sometimes  so  narrow 
that  the  brambles  of  the  hedge,  which  hung  forward  like 
anglers'  rods  over  a  stream,  scratched  their  hats  and  curry- 
combed  their  whiskers  as  they  passed.  Yet  this  neglected 
lane  had  been  a  highway  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  court  and 
other  cavalcades  of  the  past.  Its  day  was  over  now,  and 
its  history  as  a  national  artery  done  forever. 

"Why  I  have  decided  to  marry  her,"  resumed  Darton 
(in  a  measured,  musical  voice  of  confidence  which  revealed 
a  good  deal  of  his  composition)  as  he  glanced  round  to  see 
that  the  lad  was  not  too  near,  "  is  not  only  that  I  like  her, 
but  that  I  can  do  no  better,  even  from  a  fairly  practical 
point  of  view.  That  I  might  ha'  looked  higher  is  possi 
bly  true,  though  it  is  really  all  nonsense.  I  have  had  ex 
perience  enough  in  looking  above  me.  *!N"o  more  superior 
women  for  me,'  said  I — you  know  when.  Sally  is  a  come 
ly,  independent,  simple  character,  with  no  make-up  about 
her,  who'll  think  me  as  much  a  superior  to  her  as  I  used 
to  think — you  know  who  I  mean — was  to  me." 

"Ay,"  said  Johns.     "However,  I  shouldn't  call  Sally 


INTERLOPERS   AT  THE   SNAP.  119 

Hall  simple.  Primary,  because  no  Sally  is;  secondary, 
because  if  some  could  be,  this  one  wouldn't.  'Tis  a  wrong 
denomination  to  apply  to  a  woman,  Charles,  and  affects  me, 
as  your  best  man,  like  cold  water.  'Tis  like  recommend 
ing  a  stage-play  by  saying  there's  neither  murder,  villany, 
nor  harm  of  any  sort  in  it,  when  that's  what  you've  paid 
your  half-crown  to  see." 

"  Well,  may  your  opinion  do  you  good.  Mine's  a  dif 
ferent  one."  And  turning  the  conversation  from  the  phil 
osophical  to  the  practical,  Darton  expressed  a  hope  that 
the  said  Sally  had  received  what  he'd  sent  on  by  the  car 
rier  that  day. 

Johns  wanted  to  know  what  that  was. 

"  It  is  a  dress,"  said  Darton.  "  Not  exactly  a  wedding- 
dress,  though  she  may  use  it  as  one  if  she  likes.  It  is 
rather  serviceable  than  showy  —  suitable  for  the  winter 
weather." 

"  Good  !"  said  Johns.  "  Serviceable  is  a  wise  word  in  a 
bridegroom.  I  commend  ye,  Charles." 

"  For,"  said  Darton,  "  why  should  a  woman  dress  up  like 
a  rope-dancer  because  she's  going  to  do  the  most  solemn 
deed  of  her  life  except  dying  ?" 

"  Faith,  why  ?  But  she  will,  because  she  will,  I  sup 
pose,"  said  Dairy-man  Johns. 

"  H'm,"  said  Darton. 

The  lane  they  followed  had  been  nearly  straight  for 
several  miles,  but  it  now  took  a  turn,  and,  winding  un 
certainly  for  some  distance,  forked  into  two.  By  night, 
country  roads  are  apt  to  reveal  ungainly  qualities  which 
pass  without  observation  during  day ;  and  though  Darton 
had  travelled  this  way  before,  he  had  not  done  so  fre 
quently,  Sally  having  been  wooed  at  the  house  of  a  rela 
tive  near  his  own.  He  never  remembered  seeing  at  this 
spot  a  pair  of  alternative  ways  looking  so  equally  proba 
ble  as  these  two  did  now.  Johns  rode  on  a  few  steps. 

"  Don't  be  out  of  heart,  sonny,"  he  cried.  "  Here's  a 
hand-post.  Enoch,  come  and  climb  this  post,  and  tell  us 
the  way." 


120  WESSEX  TALES. 

The  lad  dismounted,  and  jumped  into  the  hedge  where 
the  post  stood  under  a  tree. 

"Unstrap  the  baskets,  or  you'll  smash  up  that  wine!" 
cried  Darton,  as  the  young  man  began  spasmodically  to 
climb  the  post,  baskets  and  all. 

"  Was  there  ever  less  head  in  a  brainless  world  ?"  said 
Johns.  "  Here,  simple  Nocky,  I'll  do  it."  He  leaped  off, 
and  with  much  puffing  climbed  the  post,  striking  a  match 
when  he  reached  the  top,  and  moving  the  light  along  the 
arm,  the  lad  standing  and  gazing  at  the  spectacle. 

"I  have  faced  tantalization  these  twenty  years  with  a 
temper  as  mild  as  milk,"  said  Japheth,  "but  such  things 
as  this  don't  come  short  of  deviltry !"  and  flinging  the 
match  away,  he  slipped  down  to  the  ground. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Darton. 

"  Not  a  letter,  sacred  or  heathen — not  so  much  as  would 
tell  us  the  way  to  the  great  fireplace,  ever  I  should  sin  to 
say  it!  Either  the  moss  and  mildew  have  eaten  away  the 
words,  or  we  have  arrived  in  a  land  where  the  natives 
have  lost  the  art  of  writing,  and  should  have  brought  our 
compass,  like  Christopher  Columbus." 

"Let  us  take  the  straightest  road,"  said  Darton,  placid 
ly;  "I  sha'n't  be  sorry  to  get  there — 'tis  a  tiresome  ride. 
I  would  have  driven  if  I  had  known." 

"  Nor  I  neither,  sir,"  said  Enoch.  "  These  straps  plough 
my  shoulder  like  a  zull.  If  'tis  much  farther  to  your  lady's 
home,  Maister  Darton,  I  shall  ask  to  be  let  carry  half  of 
these  good  things  in  my  innerds — hee  !  hee  !" 

"Don't  you  be  such  a  reforming  radical,  Enoch!"  said 
Johns,  sternly.  "  Here,  I'll  take  the  turkey." 

This  being  done,  they  went  forward  by  the  right-hand 
lane,  whftxh  ascended  a  hill,  the  left  winding  away  under 
a  plantation.  The  pit-a-pat  of  their  horses'  hoofs  lessened 
up  the  slope  ;  and  the  ironical  directing-post  stood  in  soli 
tude  as  before,  holding  out  its  blank  arms  to  the  raw 
breeze,  which  brought  a  snore  from  the  wood  as  if  Skrymir 
the  Giant  were  sleeping  there. 


INTERLOPERS   AT  THE   KNAP.  121 


II. 

THREE  miles  to  the  left  of  the  travellers,  along  the  road 
they  had  not  followed,  rose  an  old  house  with  mullioned 
windows  of  Ham-hill  stone,  and  chimneys  of  lavish  solid 
ity.  It  stood  at  the  top  of  a  slope  beside  Hintock  village- 
street;  and  immediately  in  front  of  it  grew  a  large  syca 
more-tree,  whose  bared  roots  formed  a  convenient  staircase 
from  the  road  below  to  the  front  door  of  the  dwelling. 
Its  situation  gave  the  house  what  little  distinctive  name 
it  possessed,  namely,  "  The  Knap."  Some  forty  yards  off 
a  brook  dribbled  past,  which,  for  its  size,  made  a  great  deal 
of  noise.  At  the  back  was  a  dairy  barton,  accessible  for 
vehicles  and  live-stock  by  a  side"drong."  Thus  much 
only  of  the  character  of  the  homestead  could  be  divined 
out-of-doors  at  this  shady  evening-time. 

But  within  there  was  plenty  of  light  to  see  by,  as 
plenty  was  construed  at  Hintock.  Beside  a  Tudor  fire 
place,  whose  moulded  four-centred  arch  was  nearly  hid 
den  by  a  figured  blue -cloth  blower,  were  seated  two 
women — mother  and  daughter — Mrs.  Hall,  and  Sarah,  or 
Sally;  for  this  was  a  part  of  the  world  where  the  latter 
modification  had  not  as  yet  been  effaced  as  a  vulgarity 
by  the  inarch  of  intellect.  The  owner  of  the  name  was 
the  young  woman  by  whose  means  Mr.  Darton  purposed 
to  put  an  end  to  his  bachelor  condition  on  the  approach 
ing  day. 

The  mother's  bereavement  had  been  so  long  ago  as  not 
to  leave  much  mark  of  its  occurrence  upon  her  now, 
either  in  face  or  clothes.  She  had  resumed  the  mob-cap 
of  her  early  married  life,  enlivening  its  whiteness  by  a 
few  rose-du-Barry  ribbons.  Sally  required  no  such  aids 
to  pinkness.  Koseate  good-nature  lit  up  her  gaze ;  her 
features  showed  curves  of  decision  and  judgment;  and 


122  WESSEX  TALES. 


she  might  have  been  regarded  without  much  mistake  as 
a  warm-hearted,  quick-spirited,  handsome  girl. 

She  did  most  of  the  talking,  her  mother  listening  with 
a  half-absent  air,  as  she  picked  up  fragments  of  red-hot 
wood  ember  with  the  tongs,  and  piled  them  upon  the 
brands.  But  the  number  of  speeches  that  passed  was 
very  small  in  proportion  to  the  meanings  exchanged. 
Long  experience  together  often  enabled  them  to  see  the 
course  of  thought  in  each  other's  minds  without  a  word 
being  spoken.  Behind  them,  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
the  table  was  spread  for  supper,  certain  whiffs  of  air  laden 
with  fat  vapors,  which  ever  and  anon  entered  from  the 
kitchen,  denoting  its  preparation  there. 

"  The  new  gown  he  was  going  to  send  you  stays  about 
on  the  way  like  himself,"  Sally's  mother  was  saying. 

"  Yes,  not  finished,  I  dare  say,"  cried  Sally,  independ 
ently.  "Lord,  I  shouldn't  be  amazed  if  it  didn't  come  at 
all  !  Young  men  make  such  kind  promises  when  they 
are  near  you,  and  forget  'em  when  they  go  away.  But 
he  doesn't  intend  it  as  a  wedding-gown  —  he  gives  it  to 
me  merely  as  a  gown  to  wear  when  I  like  —  a  travelling- 
dress  is  what  it  would  be  called  by  some.  Come  rathe  or 
come  late,  it  don't  much  matter,  as  I  have  a  dress  of  my 
own  to  fall  back  upon.  But  what  time  is  it?" 

She  went  to  the  family  clock  and  opened  the  glass,  for 
the  hour  was  not  otherwise  discernible  by  night,  and 
indeed  at  all  times  was  rather  a  thing  to  be  investigated 
than  beheld,  so  much  more  wall  than  window  was  there 
in  the  apartment.  "  It  is  nearly  eight,"  said  she. 

"  Eight  o'clock,  and  neither  dress  nor  man  !"  said  Mrs. 
Hall. 

"  Mother,  if  you  think  to  tantalize  me  by  talking  like 
that,  you  are  much  mistaken  !  Let  him  be  as  late  as  he 
will  —  or  stay  away  altogether  —  I  don't  care,"  said  Sally. 
But  a  tender,  minute  quaver  in  the  negation  showed  that 
there  was  something  forced  in  that  statement. 

Mrs.  Hall  perceived  it,  and  dryly  observed  that  she  was 
not  so  sure  about  Sally  not  caring.  "  But  perhaps  you 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  123 

don't  care  so  much  as  I  do,  after  all,"  she  said.  "For  I 
see  what  yon  don't,  that  it  is  a  good  and  flourishing 
match  for  you ;  a  very  honorable  offer  in  Mr.  Darton. 
And  I  think  I  see  a  kind  husband  in  him.  So  pray  God 
'twill  go  smooth,  and  wind  up  well." 

Sally  would  not  listen  to  misgivings.  Of  course  it 
would  go  smoothly,  she  asserted.  "  How  you  are  up  and 
down,  mother!"  she  went  on.  "At  this  moment,  what 
ever  hinders  him,  we  are  not  so  anxious  to  see  him  as  he 
is  to  be  here,  and  his  thought  runs  on  before  him,  and 
settles  down  upon  us  like  the  star  in  the  east.  Hark !" 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  breath  of  relief,  her  eyes  sparkling; 
"I  heard  something.  Yes,  here  they  are  !" 

The  next  moment  her  mother's  slower  ear  also  distin 
guished  the  familiar  reverberation  occasioned  by  footsteps 
clambering  up  the  roots  of  the  sycamore. 

"  Yes,  it  sounds  like  them  at  last,"  she  said.  "  Well, 
it  is  not  so  very  late  after  all,  considering  the  dis 
tance." 

The  footfall  ceased,  and  they  arose,  expecting  a  knock. 
They  began  to  think  it  might  have  been,  after  all,  some 
neighboring  villager  under  Bacchic  influence,  giving  the 
centre  of  the  road  a  wide  berth,  when  their  doubts  were 
dispelled  by  the  new-comer's  entry  into  the  passage.  The 
door  of  the  room  was  gently  opened,  and  there  appeared, 
not  the  pair  of  travellers  with  whom  we  have  already 
made  acquaintance,  but  a  pale-faced  man  in  the  garb  of 
extreme  poverty — almost  in  rags. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  tramp — gracious  me !"  said  Sally,  starting 
back. 

His  cheeks  and  eye-orbits  were  deep  concaves — rather, 
it  might  be,  from  natural  weakness  of  constitution  than 
from  irregular  living,  though  there  were  indications  that 
he  had  led  no  careful  life.  He  gazed  at  the  two  women 
fixedly  for  a  moment;  then  with  an  abashed,  humiliated 
demeanor,  dropped  his  glance  to  the  floor,  and  sank  into 
a  chair  without  uttering  a  word. 

Sally  was  in  advance  of  her  mother,  who  had  remained 


124  WESSEX  TALES. 

standing  by  the  fire.  She  now  tried  to  discern  the  visitor 
across  the  candles. 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  Sally,  faintly,  turning  back  to 
Mrs.  Hall,  "it  is  Phil,  from  Australia!" 

Mrs.  Hall  started,  and  grew  pale,  and  a  fit  of  coughing 
seized  the  man  with  the  ragged  clothes.  "To  come  home 
like  this,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Philip,  are  you  ill  ?" 

"  No,  no,  mother,"  replied  he,  impatiently,  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak. 

"But  for  God's  sake  how  do  you  come  here — and  just 
now  too  ?" 

"  Well,  I  am  here,"  said  the  man.  "  How  it  is  I  hardly 
know.  I've  come  home,  mother,  because  I  was  driven  to 
it.  Things  were  against  me  out  there,  and  went  from  bad 
to  worse." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  let  us  know? — you've  not  writ 
a  line  for  the  last  two  or  three  years." 

The  son  admitted  sadly  that  he  had  not.  He  said  that 
he  had  hoped  and  thought  he  might  fetch  up  again,  and 
be  able  to  send  good  news.  Then  he  had  been  obliged 
to  abandon  that  hope,  and  had  finally  come  home  from 
sheer  necessity — previous  to  making  a  new  start.  "Yes, 
things  are  very  bad  with  me,"  he  repeated,  perceiving 
their  commiserating  glances  at  his  clothes. 

They  brought  him  nearer  the  fire,  took  his  hat  from 
his  thin  hand,  which  was  so  small  and  smooth  as  to  show 
that  his  attempts  to  fetch  up  again  had  not  been  in  a 
manual  direction.  His  mother  resumed  her  inquiries, 
and  dubiously  asked  if  he  had  chosen  to  come  that  par 
ticular  night  for  any  special  reason. 

For  no  reason,  he  told  her.  His  arrival  had  been  quite 
at  random.  Then  Philip  Hall  looked  round  the  room, 
and  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the  table  was  laid  some 
what  luxuriously,  and  for  a  larger  number  than  them 
selves;  and  that  an  air  of  festivity  pervaded  their  dress. 
He  asked  quickly  what  was  going  on. 

"  Sally  is  going  to  be  married  in  a  day  or  two,"  replied 
the  mother;  and  she  explained  how  Mr.  Darton,  Sally's 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  125 

intended  husband,  was  coming  there  that  night  with  the 
bridesman,  Mr.  Johns,  and  other  details.  "  We  thought 
it  must  be  their  step  when  we  heard  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Hall. 

The  needy  wanderer  looked  again  on  the  floor.  "  I  see 
— I  see,"  he  murmured.  "  Why,  indeed,  should  I  have 
come  to-night!  Such  folk  as  I  are  not  wanted  here  at 
these  times,  naturally.  And  I  have  no  business  here — 
spoiling  other  people's  happiness." 

"  Phil,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  but 
with  a  thinness  of  lip  and  severity  of  manner  which  were 
presumably  not  more  than  past  events  justified,  "since 
you  speak  like  that  to  me,  I'll  speak  honestly  to  you. 
For  these  three  years  you  have  taken  no  thought  for  us. 
You  left  home  with  a  good  supply  of  money,  and  strength 
and  education,  and  you  ought  to  have  made  good  use  of 
it  all.  But  you  come  back  like  a  beggar;  and  that  you 
come  in  a  very  awkward  time  for  us  cannot  be  denied. 
Your  return  to-night  may  do  us  much  harm.  But  mind 
— you  are  welcome  to  this  home  as  long  as  it  is  mine.  I 
don't  wish  to  turn  you  adrift.  We  will  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  job,  and  I  hope  you  are  not  seriously  ill  ?" 

"  Oh  no.     I  have  only  this  infernal  cough." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "I  think  you  had  better 
go  to  bed  at  once,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  shall  be  out  of  the  way  there,"  said  the  son, 
wearily.  "  Having  ruined  myself,  don't  let  me  ruin  you 
by  being  seen  in  these  togs,  for  Heaven's  sake!  Whom 
do  you  say  Sally  is  going  to  be  married  to — a  Farmer 
Barton  ?" 

"Yes,  a  gentleman-farmer — quite  a  wealthy  man.  Far 
better  in  station  than  she  could  have  expected.  It  is  a 
good  thing,  altogether." 

"Well  done,  little  Sal!"  said  her  brother,  brightening 
and  looking  up  at  her  with  a  smile.  "  I  ought  to  have 
written  ;  but  perhaps  I  have  thought  of  you  all  the  more. 
But  let  me  get  out  of  sight.  I  would  rather  go  and  jump 
into  the  river  than  be  seen  here.  But  have  you  anything 


126  WESSEX  TALES. 

I  can  drink  ?  I  am  confoundedly  thirsty  with  my  long 
tramp." 

"Yes,  yes;  we  will  bring  something  up-stairs  to  you," 
said  Sally,  with  grief  in  her  face. 

"  Ay,  that  will  do  nicely.  But,  Sally  and  mother — " 
He  stopped,  and  they  waited.  "Mother,  I  have  not  told 
you  all,"  he  resumed,  slowly,  still  looking  on  the  floor  be 
tween  his  knees.  "  Sad  as  what  you  see  of  me  is,  there's 
worse  behind." 

His  mother  gazed  upon  him  in  grieved  suspense,  and 
Sally  wrent  and  leaned  upon  the  bureau,  listening  for 
every  sound,  and  sighing.  Suddenly  she  turned  round, 
saying,  "Let  them  come,  I  don't  care!  Philip,  tell  the 
worst,  and  take  your  time." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  unhappy  Phil,  "  I  am  not  the 
only  one  in  this  mess.  Would  to  Heaven  I  were! 
But—" 

"  Oh,  Phil !" 

"  I  have  a  wife  as  destitute  as  I." 

"  A  wife  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  Unhappily." 

"  A  wife !     Yes,  that  is  the  way  with  sons !" 

"  And  besides — "  said  he. 

"  Besides !     Oh,  Philip,  surely—" 

"  I  have  two  little  children." 

"  Wife  and  children !"  whispered  Mrs.  Hall,  sinking 
down  confounded. 

"Poor  little  things!"  said  Sally,  involuntarily. 

His  mother  turned  again  to  him.  "I  suppose  these 
helpless  beings  are  left  in  Australia?" 

"No.     They  are  in  England." 

"Well,  I  can  only  hope  you've  left  them  in  a  respecta 
ble  place." 

"  I  have  not  left  them  at  all.  They  are  here — within 
a  few  yards  of  us.  In  short,  they  are  in  the  stable." 

"  Where  ?" 

"  In  the  stable.  I  did  not  like  to  bring  them  in-doors 
till  I  had  seen  you,  mother,  and  broken  the  bad  news  a 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  127 

bit  to  you.  They  were  very  tired,  and  are  resting  out 
there  on  some  straw." 

Mrs.  Hall's  fortitude  visibly  broke  down.  She  had 
been  brought  up  not  without  refinement,  and  was  even 
more  moved  by  such  a  collapse  of  genteel  aims  as  this 
than  a  substantial  dairy-man's  widow  would  in  ordinary 
have  been  moved.  "  Well,  it  must  be  borne,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  with  her  hands  tightly  joined.  "  A  starv 
ing  son,  a  starving  wife,  starving  children !  Let  it  be. 
But  why  is  this  come  to  us  now,  to-day,  to-night?  Could 
no  other  misfortune  happen  to  helpless  women  than  this, 
which  will  quite  upset  my  poor  girl's  chance  of  a  happy 
life  ?  Why  have  you  done  us  this  wrong,  Philip  ?  What 
respectable  man  will  come  here,  and  marry  open-eyed  into 
a  family  of  vagabonds  ?" 

"Nonsense,  mother!"  said  Sally,  vehemently,  while  her 
face  flushed.  "  Charley  isn't  the  man  to  desert  me.  But 
if  he  should  be,  and  won't  marry  me  because  Phil's  come, 
let  him  go  and  marry  elsewhere.  I  won't  be  ashamed  of 
my  own  flesh  and  blood  for  any  man  in  England — not 
I !"  And  then  Sally  turned  away  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Wait  till  you  are  twenty  years  older  and  you  will  tell 
a  different  tale,"  replied  her  mother. 

The  son  stood  up.  "  Mother,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "  as  I 
have  come,  so  I  will  go.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  will 
allow  me  and  mine  to  lie  in  your  stable  to-night.  I  give 
you  my  word  that  we'll  be  gone  by  break  of  day,  and 
trouble  you  no  further !" 

Mrs.  Hall,  the  mother,  changed  at  that.  "  Oh  no,"  she 
answered,  hastily,  "  never  shall  it  be  said  that  I  sent  any 
of  my  own  family  from  my  door.  Bring  'em  in,  Philip, 
or  take  me  out  to  them." 

"We  will  put  'em  all  into  the  large  bedroom,"  said 
Sally,  brightening,  "  and  make  up  a  large  fire.  Let's  go 
and  help  them  in,  and  call  Susannah."  (Susannah  was 
the  woman  who  assisted  at  the  dairy  and  house  work  ;  she 
lived  in  a  cottage  hard  by,  with  her  husband,  who  attended 
to  the  cows.) 


128  WESSEX  TALES. 

Sally  went  to  fetch  a  lantern  from  the  back-kitchen, 
but  her  brother  said,  "You  won't  want  a  light.  I  lit  the 
lantern  that  was  hanging  there." 

"  What  must  we  call  your  wife  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Hall. 

"  Helena,"  said  Philip. 

With  shawls  over  their  heads  they  proceeded  towards 
the  back  door. 

"One  minute  before  you  go,"  interrupted  Philip.  "I 
— I  haven't  confessed  all." 

"  Then  Heaven  help  us !"  said  Mrs.  Hall,  pushing  to  the 
door  and  clasping  her  hands  in  calm  despair. 

"  We  passed  through  Yerton  as  we  came,"  he  continued, 
"  and  I  just  looked  in  at  the  '  Dog'  to  see  if  old  Mike  still 
kept  on  there  as  usual.  The  carrier  had  come  in  from 
Sherton  Abbas  at  that  moment,  and  guessing  that  I  was 
bound  for  this  place — for  I  think  he  knew  me — he  asked 
me  to  bring  on  a  dress-maker's  parcel  for  Sally  that  was 
marked  '  immediate.'  My  wife  had  walked  on  with  the 
children.  'Twas  a  flimsy  parcel,  and  the  paper  was  torn, 
and  I  found  on  looking  at  it  that  it  was  a  thick  warm 
gown.  I  didn't  wish  you  to  see  poor  Helena  in  a  shabby 
state.  I  was  ashamed  that  you  should — 'twas  not  what 
she  was  born  to.  I  untied  the  parcel  in  the  road,  took  it 
on  to  her  where  she  was  waiting  in  the  lower  barn,  and 
told  her  I  had  managed  to  get  it  for  her,  and  that  she  was 
to  ask  no  question.  She,  poor  thing,  must  have  supposed 
I  obtained  it  on  trust,  through  having  reached  a  place 
where  I  was  known,  for  she  put  it  on  gladly  enough.  She 
has  it  on  now.  Sally  has  other  gowns,  I  dare  say." 

Sally  looked  at  her  mother  speechless. 

"  You  have  others,  I  dare  say !"  repeated  Phil,  with  a 
sick  man's  impatience.  "  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Better 
Sally  cry  than  Helena  freeze.'  Well,  is  the  dress  of  great 
consequence?  'Twas  nothing  very  ornamental,  as  far  as 
I  could  see." 

"  No,  no ;  not  of  consequence,"  returned  Sally,  sadly, 
adding,  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  You  will  not  mind  if  I  lend 
her  another  instead  of  that  one,  will  you  ?" 


INTERLOPERS  AT   THE   KNAP.  129 

Philip's  agitation  at  the  confession  had  brought  on 
another  attack  of  the  cough  which  seemed  to  shake  him 
to  pieces.  He  was  so  obviously  unfit  to  sit  in  a  chair  that 
they  helped  him  up-stairs  at  once ;  and  having  hastily 
given  him  a  cordial  and  kindled  the  bedroom  fire,  they 
descended  to  fetch  their  unhappy  new  relations. 


III. 

IT  was  with  strange  feelings  that  the  girl  and  her 
mother,  lately  so  cheerful,  passed  out  of  the  back  door 
into  the  open  air  of  the  barton,  laden  with  hay  scents  and 
the  herby  breath  of  cows.  A  fine  sleet  had  begun  to  fall, 
and  they  trotted  across  the  yard  quickly.  The  stable  door 
was  open  ;  a  light  shone  from  it — from  the  lantern  which 
always  hung  there,  and  which  Philip  had  lit,  as  he  said. 
Softly  nearing  the  door,  Mrs.  Hall  pronounced  the  name 
"  Helena." 

There  was  no  answer  for  the  moment.  Looking  in,  she 
was  taken  by  surprise.  Two  people  appeared  before  her. 
For  one,  instead  of  the  drabbish  woman  she  had  expected, 
Mrs.  Hall  saw  a  pale,  dark-eyed,  lady-like  creature,  whose 
personality  ruled  her  attire  rather  than  was  ruled  by  it. 
She  was  in  a  new  and  handsome  dress,  of  course,  and  an 
old  bonnet.  She  was  standing  up,  agitated;  her  hand  was 
held  by  her  companion — none  else  than  Sally's  affianced, 
Farmer  Charles  Darton,  upon  whose  fine  figure  the  pale 
stranger's  eyes  were  fixed,  as  his  were  fixed  upon  her. 
His  other  hand  held  the  rein  of  his  horse,  which  was  stand 
ing  saddled  as  if  just  led  in. 

At  sight  of  Mrs.  Hall  they  both  turned,  looking  at  her 
in  a  way  neither  quite  conscious  nor  unconscious,  and 
without  seeming  to  recollect  that  words  were  necessary  as 
a  solution  to  the  scene.  In  another  moment  Sally  entered 
also,  when  Mr.  Darton  dropped  his  companion's  hand,  led 
9 


130  WESSEX  TALES. 

tlie  horse  aside,  and  came  to  greet  his  betrothed  and  Mrs. 
Hall. 

"  Ah !"  he  said,  smiling,  with  something  like  forced  com 
posure,  "  this  is  a  roundabout  way  of  arriving,  you  will 
say,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hall.  But  we  lost  our  way,  which 
made  us  late.  I  saw  a  light  here,  and  led  in  my  horse  at 
once — iny  friend  Johns  and  my  man  have  gone  on  to  the 
4 Sheaf  of  Arrows'  with  theirs,  not  to  crowd  you  too 
much.  No  sooner  had  I  entered  than  I  saw  that  this  lady 
had  taken  temporary  shelter  here,  and  found  I  was  in 
truding." 

"  She  is  my  daughter-in-law,"  said  Mrs.  Hall,  calmly. 
"  My  son,  too,  is  in  the  house,  but  he  has  gone  to  bed 
unwell." 

Sally  had  stood  staring  wonderingly  at  the  scene  until 
this  moment,  hardly  recognizing  Darton's  shake  of  the 
hand.  The  spell  that  bound  her  was  broken  by  her  per 
ceiving  the  two  little  children  seated  on  a  heap  of  hay. 
She  suddenly  went  forward,  spoke  to  them,  and  took  one 
on  her  arm  and  the  other  in  her  hand. 

"And  two  children?"  said  Mr.  Darton,  showing  thus 
that  he  had  not  been  there  long  enough  as  yet  to  under 
stand  the  situation. 

"My  grandchildren,"  said  Mrs.  Hall,  with  as  much  af 
fected  ease  as  before. 

Philip  Hall's  wife,  in  spite  of  this  interruption  to  her 
first  rencounter,  seemed  scarcely  so  much  affected  by  it 
as  to  feel  any  one's  presence  in  addition  to  Mr.  Darton's. 
However,  arousing  herself  by  a  quick  reflection,  she  threw 
a  sudden  critical  glance  of  her  sad  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Hall ; 
and,  apparently  finding  her  satisfactory,  advanced  to  her 
in  a  meek  initiative.  Then  Sally  and  the  stranger  spoke 
some  friendly  words  to  each  other,  and  Sally  went  on  with 
the  children  into  the  house.  Mrs.  Hall  and  Helena  fol 
lowed,  and  Mr.  Darton  followed  these,  looking  at  Helena's 
dress  and  outline,  and  listening  to  her  voice  like  a  man 
in  a  dream. 

By  the  time  the  others  reached  the  house  Sally  had  al- 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  131 

ready  gone  up-stairs  with  the  tired  children.  She  rapped 
against  the  wall  for  Susannah  to  come  in  and  help  to  at 
tend  to  them,  Susannah's  house  being  a  little  "spit-and- 
dab  "  cabin  leaning  against  the  substantial  stone-work  of 
Mrs.  Hall's  taller  erection.  When  she  came  a  bed  was 
made  up  for  the  little  ones,  and  some  supper  given  to 
them.  On  descending  the  stairs  after  seeing  this  done 
Sally  went  to  the  sitting-room.  Young  Mrs.  Hall  entered 
it  just  in  advance  of  her,  having  in  the  interim  retired 
with  her  mother-in-law  to  take  off  her  bonnet,  and  other 
wise  make  herself  presentable.  Hence  it  was  evident  that 
no  further  communication  could  have  passed  between  her 
and  Mr.  Darton  since  their  brief  interview  in  the  stable. 

Mr.  Japheth  Johns  now  opportunely  arrived,  and  broke 
up  the  restraint  of  the  company,  after  a  few  orthodox 
meteorological  commentaries  had  passed  between  him  and 
Mrs.  Hall  by  way  of  introduction.  They  at  once  sat  down 
to  supper,  the  present  of  wine  and  turkey  not  being  pro 
duced  for  consumption  to-night,  lest  the  premature  dis 
play  of  these  gifts  should  seem  to  throw  doubt  on  Mrs. 
Hall's  capacities  as  a  provider. 

"  Drink  bold,  Mr.  Johns — drink  bold,"  said  that  matron, 
magnanimously.  "  Such  as  it  is  there's  plenty  of  it.  But 
perhaps  cider-wine  is  not  to  your  taste — though  there's 
body  in  it." 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  ma'am — quite  the  contrary,"  said 
the  dairy-man.  "For  though  I  inherit  the  malt-liquor 
principle  from  my  father,  I  am  a  cider- drinker  on  my 
mother's  side.  She  came  from  these  parts,  you  know. 
And  there's  this  to  be  said  for't  —  'tis  a  more  peaceful 
liquor,  and  don't  lie  about  a  man  like  your  hotter  drinks. 
With  care,  one  may  live  on  it  a  twelvemonth  without 
knocking  down  a  neighbor,  or  getting  a  black  eye  from 
an  old  acquaintance." 

The  general  conversation  thus  begun  was  continued 
briskly,  though  it  was  in  the  main  restricted  to  Mrs.  Hall 
and  Japheth,  who  in  truth  required  but  little  help  from 
anybody.  There  being  slight  call  upon  Sally's  tongue, 


132  WESSEX  TALES. 

she  bad  ample  leisure  to  do  what  her  heart  most  desired, 
namelj7,  watch  her  intended  husband  and  her  sister-in-law 
with  a  view  of  elucidating  the  strange  momentary  scene 
in  which  her  mother  and  herself  had  surprised  them  in 
the  stable.  If  that  scene  meant  anything,  it  meant,  at 
least,  that  they  had  met  before.  That  there  had  been  no 
time  for  explanation  Sally  could  see,  for  their  manner  was 
still  one  of  suppressed  amazement  at  each  other's  presence 
there.  Darton's  eyes,  too,  fell  continually  on  the  dress 
worn  by  Helena,  as  if  this  were  an  added  riddle  to  his 
perplexity ;  though  to  Sally  it  was  the  one  feature  in  the 
case  which  was  no  mystery.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  fate 
had  impishly  changed  his  vis-d-vis  in  the  lover's  jig  he 
was  about  to  tread ;  that  while  the  gown  had  been  ex 
pected  to  enclose  a  Sally,  a  Helena's  face  looked  out  from 
the  bodice;  that  some  long-lost  hand  met  his  own  from 
the  sleeves. 

Sally  could  see  that  whatever  Helena  might  know  of 
Darton,  she  knew  nothing  of  how  the  dress  entered  into 
his  embarrassment.  And  at  moments  the  young  girl 
would  have  persuaded  herself  that  Darton's  looks  at  her 
sister-in-law  were  entirely  the  fruit  of  the  clothes  query. 
But  surely  at  other  times  a  more  extensive  range  of  spec 
ulation  and  sentiment  was  expressed  by  her  lover's  eye 
than  that  which  the  changed  dress  would  account  for. 

Sally's  independence  made  her  one  of  the  least  jealous 
of  women.  But  there  was  something  in  the  relations  of 
these  two  visitors  which  ought  to  be  explained. 

Japheth  Johns  continued  to  converse  in  his  well-known 
style,  interspersing  his  talk  with  some  private  reflections 
on  the  position  of  Darton  and  Sally,  which,  though  the 
sparkle  in  his  eye  showed  them  to  be  highly  entertaining 
to  himself,  were  apparently  not  quite  communicable  to 
the  company.  At  last  he  withdrew  for  the  night,  going 
off  to  the  "  Sheaf  of  Arrows,"  whither  Darton  promised 
to  follow  him  in  a  few  minutes. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  then  Mr.  Darton  also  rose  to 
leave,  Sally  and  her  sister-in-law  simultaneously  wishing 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  133 

him  good-night  as  they  retired  np-stairs  to  their  rooms. 
But  on  his  arriving  at  the  front  door  with  Mrs.  Hall  a 
sharp  shower  of  rain  began  to  come  down,  when  the  wid 
ow  suggested  that  he  should  return  to  the  fireside  till  the 
storm  ceased. 

Darton  accepted  her  proposal,  but  insisted  that,  as  it 
was  getting  late,  and  she  was  obviously  tired,  she  should 
not  sit  up  on  his  account,  since  he  could  let  himself  out 
of  the  house,  and  would  quite  enjoy  smoking  a  pipe  by 
the  hearth  alone.  Mrs.  Hall  assented ;  and  Darton  was 
left  by  himself.  He  spread  his  knees  to  the  brands,  lit 
up  his  tobacco  as  he  had  said,  and  sat  gazing  into  the  fire, 
and  at  the  notches  of  the  chimney- crook  which  hung 
above. 

An  occasional  drop  of  rain  rolled  down  the  chimney 
with  a  hiss,  and  still  he  smoked  on ;  but  not  like  a  man 
whose  mind  was  at  rest.  In  the  long  run,  however,  de 
spite  his  meditations,  early  hours  afield  and  a  long  ride  in 
the  open  air  produced  their  natural  result.  He  began  to 
doze. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  half-unconscious  state  he 
did  not  know.  He  suddenly  opened  his  eyes.  The  back- 
brand  had  burned  itself  in  two,  and  ceased  to  flame ;  the 
light  which  he  had  placed  on  the  mantle-piece  had  nearly 
gone  out.  But  in  spite  of  these  deficiencies  there  was  a 
light  in  the  apartment,  and  it  came  from  elsewhere.  Turn 
ing  his  head,  he  saw  Philip  Hall's  wife  standing  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  room  with  a  bed-candle  in  one  hand,  a  small 
brass  tea-kettle  in  the  other,  and  his  gown,  as  it  certainly 
seemed,  still  upon  her. 

"  Helena !"  said  Darton,  starting  up. 

Her  countenance  expressed  dismay,  and  her  first  words 
were  an  apology.  "  I — did  not  know  you  were  here,  Mr. 
Darton,"  she  said,  while  a  blush  flashed  to  her  cheek.  "I 
thought  every  one  had  retired — I  was  coming  to  make  a 
little  water  boil ;  my  husband  seems  to  be  worse.  But 
perhaps  the  kitchen  fire  can  be  lighted  up  again." 

"  Don't  go  on  my  account.     By  all  means  put  it  on 


134:  WESSEX  TALES. 

here  as  you  intended,"  said  Darton.  "  Allow  me  to  help 
you."  He  went  forward  to  take  the  kettle  from  her  hand, 
but  she  did  not  allow  him,  and  placed  it  on  the  fire  her 
self. 

They  stood  some  distance  apart,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  fireplace,  waiting  till  the  water  should  boil,  the  candle 
on  the  mantle  between  them,  and  Helena  with  her  eyes 
on  the  kettle.  Darton  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 
"Shall  I  call  Sally ?"  he  said. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  quickly  returned.  "  We  have  given 
trouble  enough  already.  We  have  no  right  here.  But 
we  are  the  sport  of  fate,  and  were  obliged  to  come." 

"  No  right  here !"  said  he,  in  surprise. 

"None.  I  can't  explain  it  now,"  answered  Helena. 
"  This  kettle  is  very  slow." 

There  was  another  pause ;  the  proverbial  dilatoriness  of 
watched  pots  was  never  more  clearly  exemplified. 

Helena's  face  was  of  that  sort  which  seems  to  ask  for 
assistance  without  the  owner's  knowledge — the  very  antip 
odes  of  Sally's,  which  was  self-reliance  expressed.  Dar- 
ton's  eyes  travelled  from  the  kettle  to  Helena's  face,  then 
back  to  the  kettle,  then  to  the  face  for  rather  a  longer 
time.  "  So  I  am  not  to  know  anything  of  the  mystery 
that  has  distracted  me  all  the  evening  ?"  he  said.  "  How 
is  it  that  a  woman  who  refused  me  because  (as  I  supposed) 
my  position  was  not  good  enough  for  her  taste  is  found 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  who  certainly  seems  to  be  worse 
off  than  I  ?" 

"  He  had  the  prior  claim,"  said  she. 

"What !  you  knew  him  at  that  time?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  Please  say  no  more,"  she  implored.  "  What 
ever  my  errors,  I  have  paid  for  them  during  the  last  five 
years !" 

The  heart  of  Darton  was  subject  to  sudden  overflow 
ings.  He  was  kind  to  a  fault.  "I  am  sorry  from  my 
soul,"  he  said,  involuntarily  approaching  her.  Helena 
withdrew  a  step  or  two,  at  which  he  became  conscious  of 
his  movement,  and  quickly  took  his  former  place.  Here 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP.  135 

he  stood  without  speaking,  and  the  little  kettle  began  to 
sing. 

"  Well,  you'might  have  been  my  wife  if  you  had  chosen," 
he  said  at  last.  "  But  that's  all  past  and  gone.  However, 
if  you  are  in  any  trouble  or  poverty  I  shall  be  glad  to  be 
of  service,  and  as  your  relative  by  marriage  I  shall  have  a 
right  to  be.  Does  your  uncle  know  of  your  distress?" 

"  My  uncle  is  dead.  He  left  rue  without  a  farthing. 
And  now  we  have  two  children  to  maintain." 

"  What,  left  you  nothing  ?  How  could  he  be  so  cruel  as 
that?" 

"  I  disgraced  myself  in  his  eyes." 

"Now,"  said  Darton,  earnestly,  " let  me  take  care  of 
the  children,  at  least  while  you  are  so  unsettled.  You 
belong  to  another,  so  I  cannot  take  care  of  you." 

"  Yes  you  can,"  said  a  voice ;  and  suddenly  a  third  fig 
ure  stood  beside  them.  It  was  Sally.  "You  can,  since 
you  seem  to  wish  to  !"  she  repeated.  "  She  no  longer  be 
longs  to  another.  My  poor  brother  is  dead !" 

Her  face  was  red,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  all  the  woman 
came  to  the  front.  "I  have  heard  it!"  she  went  on  to 
him,  passionately.  "You  can  protect  her  now  as  well  as 
the  children  !"  She  turned  then  to  her  agitated  sister-in- 
law.  "  I  heard  something,"  said  Sally,  in  a  gentle  mur 
mur,  differing  much  from  her  previous  passionate  words, 
"  and  I  went  into  his  room.  It  must  have  been  the  mo 
ment  you  left.  He  went  off  so  quickly,  and  weakly,  and 
it  was  so  unexpected,  that  I  couldn't  leave  even  to  call 
you." 

Darton  was  just  able  to  gather  from  the  confused  dis 
course  which  followed  that,  during  his  sleep  by  the  fire, 
this  brother  whom  he  had  never  seen  had  become  worse, 
and  that  during  Helena's  absence  for  water  the  end  had 
unexpectedly  come.  The  two  young  women  hastened  up 
stairs,  and  he  was  again  left  alone. 

After  standing  there  a  short  time  he  went  to  the  front 
door  and  looked  out,  till,  softly  closing  it  behind  him,  he 


136  WESSEX  TALES. 

advanced  and  stood  under  the  lai'ge  sycamore-tree.  The 
stars  were  flickering  coldly,  and  the  dampness  which  had 
just  descended  upon  the  earth  in  rain  now  sent  up  a  chill 
from  it.  Darton  was  in  a  strange  position,  and  he  felt  it. 
The  unexpected  appearance,  in  deep  poverty,  of  Helena— 
a  young  lady,  daughter  of  a  deceased  naval  officer,  who  had 
been  brought  up  by  her  uncle,  a  solicitor,  and  had  refused 
Darton  in  marriage  years  ago;  the  passionate,  almost  angry 
demeanor  of  Sally  at  discovering  them ;  the  abrupt  an 
nouncement  that  Helena  was  a  widow — all  this  coming  to 
gether  was  a  conjuncture  difficult  to  cope  with  in  a  mo 
ment,  and  made  him  question  whether  he  ought  to  leave 
the  house  or  offer  assistance.  But  for  Sally's  manner  he 
would  unhesitatingly  have  done  the  latter. 

He  was  still  standing  under  the  tree  when  the  door  in 
front  of  him  opened,  and  Mrs.  Hall  came  out.  She  went 
round  to  the  garden  gate  at  the  side  without  seeing  him. 
Darton  followed  her,  intending  to  speak.  Pausing  outside, 
as  if  in  thought,  she  proceeded  to  a  spot  where  the  sun 
came  earliest  in  spring-time,  and  where  the  north  wind 
never  blew  ;  it  was  where  the  row  of  beehives  stood  under 
the  wall.  Discerning  her  object,  he  waited  till  she  had 
accomplished  it. 

It  was  the  universal  custom  thereabouts  to  wake  the 
bees  by  tapping  at  their  hives  whenever  a  death  occurred 
in  the  household,  under  the  belief  that  if  this  were  not 
done  the  bees  themselves  would  pine  away  and  perish  dur 
ing  the  ensuing  year.  As  soon  as  an  interior  buzzing  re 
sponded  to  her  tap  at  the  first  hive,  Mrs.  Hall  went  on  to 
the  second,  and  thus  passed  down  the  row.  As  soon  as 
she  came  back  he  met  her. 

"What  can  I  do  in  this  trouble,  Mrs.  Hall?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  nothing,  thank  you,  nothing,"  she  said,  in  a  tear 
ful  voice,  now  just  perceiving  him.  ""We  have  called  Su 
sannah  and  her  husband,  and  they  will  do  everything  nec 
essary."  She  told  him  in  a  few  words  the  particulars  of 
her  son's  arrival,  broken  in  health — indeed,  at  death's  very 
door,  though  they  did  not  suspect  it  —  and  suggested,  as 


INTERLOPERS   AT  THE   KNAP.  137 

the  result  of  a  conversation  between  her  and  her  daughter, 
that  the  wedding  should  be  postponed. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Darton.  "I  think  now  to  go 
straight  to  the  inn  and  tell  Johns  what  has  happened."  It 
was  not  till  after  he  had  shaken  hands  with  her  that  he 
turned  hesitatingly  and  added,  "Will  you  tell  the  mother 
of  his  children  that,  as  they  are  now  left  fatherless,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  take  the  eldest  of  them,  if  it  would  be  any  con- 
"venience  to  her  and  to  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Hall  promised  that  her  son's  widow  should  be  told 
of  the  offer,  and  they  parted.  He  retired  down  the  rooty 
slope  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Sheaf  of 
Arrows,"  where  he  informed  Johns  of  the  circumstances. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Hall  had  entered  the  house.  Sally  was 
down-stairs  in  the  sitting-room  alone,  and  her  mother  ex 
plained  to  her  that  Darton  had  readily  assented  to  the 
postponement. 

"No  doubt  he  has,"  said  Sally,  with  sad  emphasis.  "It 
is  not  put  off  for  a  week,  or  a  month,  or  a  year.  I  shall 
never  marry  him,  and  she  will." 


IV. 

TIME  passed,  and  the  household  on  the  Knap  became 
again  serene  under  the  composing  influences  of  daily 
routine.  A  desultory,  very  desultory,  correspondence 
dragged  on  between  Sally  Hall  and  Darton,  who,  not 
quite  knowing  how  to  take  her  petulant  words  on  the 
night  of  her  brother's  death,  had  remained  passive  thus 
long.  Helena  and  her  children  remained  at  the  dairy- 
house,  almost  of  necessity,  and  Darton  therefore  deemed 
it  advisable  to  stay  away. 

One  day,  seven  months  later  on,  when  Mr.  Darton  was 
as  usual  at  his  farm,  twenty  miles  from  Hintock,  a  note 
reached  him  from  Helena.  She  thanked  him  for  his  kind 
offer  about  her  children,  which  her  mother-in-law  had 


138  WESSEX  TALES. 

duly  communicated,  and  stated  that  she  would  be  glad  to 
accept  it  as  regarded  the  eldest,  the  boy.  Helena  had,  in 
truth,  good  need  to  do  so,  for  her  uncle  had  left  her  pen 
niless,  and  all  application  to  some  relatives  in  the  north 
had  failed.  There  was,  besides,  as  she  said,  no  good  school 
near  Hintock  to  which  she  could  send  the  child. 

On  a  fine  summer  day  the  boy  came.     He  was  accom 
panied  half-way  by  Sally  and  his  mother — to  the  "  Pack- 
horse,"  a  road-side  inn  —  where  he  was  handed  over  to' 
Darton's  bailiff  in  a  shining  spring-cart,  who  met  them 
there. 

He  was  entered  as  a  day-scholar  at  a  popular  school  at 
Casterbridge,  three  or  four  miles  from  Barton's,  having 
first  been  taught  by  Darton  to  ride  a  forest -pony,  on 
which  he  cantered  to  and  from  the  aforesaid  fount  of 
knowledge,  and  (as  Darton  hoped)  brought  away  a  prom 
ising  headful  of  the  same  at  each  diurnal  expedition. 
The  thoughtful  taciturnity  into  which  Darton  had  lat 
terly  fallen  was  quite  dissipated  by  the  presence  of  this 
boy. 

When  the  Christmas  holidays  came  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  spend  them  with  his  mother.  The  journey  was, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  performed  in  two  stages,  as  at 
his  coming,  except  that  Darton  in  person  took  the  place 
of  the  bailiff,  and  that  the  boy  and  himself  rode  on  horse 
back. 

Beaching  the  renowned  "  Pack-horse,"  Darton  inquired 
if  Miss  and  young  Mrs.  Hall  were  there  to  meet  little 
Philip  (as  they  had  agreed  to  be).  He  was  answered  by 
the  appearance  of  Helena  alone  at  the  door. 

"  At  the  last  moment  Sally  would  not  come,"  she  fal 
tered. 

That  meeting  practically  settled  the  point  towards  which 
these  long-severed  persons  were  converging.  But  nothing 
was  broached  about  it  for  some  time  yet.  Sally  Hall  had, 
in  fact,  imparted  the  first  decisive  motion  to  events  by 
refusing  to  accompany  Helena.  She  soon  gave  them  a 
second  move  by  writing  the  following  note : 


INTERLOPERS   AT  THE   KNAP.  139 

"  [Private.] 

"  DEAK  CHARLES, — Living  here  so  long  and  intimately 
with  Helena,  I  have  naturally  learned  her  history,  espe 
cially  that  of  it  which  refers  to  you.  I  am  sure  she  would 
accept  you  as  a  husband  at  the  proper  time,  and  I  think 
you  ought  to  give  her  the  opportunity.  You  inquire  in 
an  old  note  if  I  am  sorry  that  I  showed  temper  (which  it 
wasn't)  that  night  when  I  heard  you  talking  to  her.  No, 
Charles,  I  am  not  sorry  at  all  for  what  I  said  then. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"SALLY  HALL." 

Thus  set  in  train,  the  transfer  of  Darton's  heart  back  to 
its  original  quarters  proceeded  by  mere  lapse  of  time.  In 
the  following  July  Darton  went  to  his  friend  Japheth  to 
ask  him  at  last  to  fulfil  the  bridal  office  which  had  been 
in  abeyance  since  the  previous  January  twelvemonths. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  man  o'  constancy  !"  said  Dairy-man 
Johns,  warmly.  "  I've  lost  most  of  my  genteel  fair  com 
plexion  haymaking  this  hot  weather,  'tis  true,  but  I'll  do 
your  business  as  well  as  them  that  look  better.  There  be 
scents  and  good  hair-oil  in  the  world  yet,  thank  God,  and 
they'll  take  off  the  roughest  o'  my  edge.  I'll  compliment 
her.  'Better  late  than" never,  Sally  Hall,'  I'll  say." 

"  It  is  not  Sally,"  said  Darton,  hurriedly.  "  It  is  young 
Mrs.  Hall." 

Japheth's  face,  as  soon  as  he  really  comprehended,  be 
came  a  picture  of  reproachful  dismay.  "Not  Sally?"  he 
said.  "Why  not  Sally  ?  I  can't  believe  it !  Young  Mrs. 
Hall !  Well,  well — where's  your  wisdom  !" 

Darton  shortly  explained  particulars  ;  but  Johns  would 
not  be  reconciled.  "  She  was  a  woman  worth  having  if 
ever  a  woman  was,"  he  cried.  "And  now  to  let  her  go !" 

"  But  I  suppose  I  can  marry  where  I  like,"  said  Dar 
ton. 

"  H'm,"  replied  the  dairy-man,  lifting  his  eyebrows  ex 
pressively.  "This  don't  become  you,  Charles — it  really 
do  not.  If  I  had  done  such  a  thing  you  would  have  sworn 


14:0  WESSEX.  TALES. 

I  was  a  d d  No' them  fool  to  be  drawn  off  the  scent 

by  such  a  red-herring  doll-oll-oll." 

Farmer  Darton  responded  in  such  sharp  terms  to  this 
laconic  opinion  that  the  two  friends  finally  parted  in  a 
way  they  had  never  parted  before.  Johns  was  to  be  no 
groomsman  to  Darton  after  all.  He  had  flatly  declined. 
Darton  went  off  sorry,  and  even  unhappy,  particularly  as 
Japheth  was  about  to  leave  that  side  of  the  county,  so 
that  the  words  which  had  divided  them  were  not  likely  to 
be  explained  away  or  softened  down. 

A  short  time  after  the  interview,  Darton  was  united  to 
Helena  at  a  simple  matter-of-fact  wedding,  and  she  and 
her  little  girl  joined  the  boy,  who  had  already  grown  to 
look  on  Darton's  house  as  home. 

For  some  months  the  farmer  experienced  an  unprece 
dented  happiness  and  satisfaction.  There  had  been  a  flaw 
in  his  life,  and  it  was  as  neatly  mended  as  was  hn manly 
possible.  But  after  a  season  the  stream  of  events  followed 
less  clearly,  and  there  were  shades  in  his  reveries,  Helena 
was  a  fragile  woman  of  little  staying  power,  physically  or 
morally,  and  since  the  time  that  he  had  originally  known 
her — eight  or  ten  years  before— she  had  been  severely 
tried.  She  had  loved  herself  out,  in  short,  and  was  now 
occasionally  given  to  moping.  Sometimes  she  spoke  re 
gretfully  of  the  gentilities  of  her  early  life,  and  instead  of 
comparing  her  present  state  with  her  condition  as  the  wife 
of  the  unlucky  Hall,  she  mused  rather  on  what  it  had  been 
before  she  took  the  first  fatal  step  of  clandestinely  mar 
rying  him.  She  did  not  care  to  please  such  people  as 
those  with  whom  she  was  thrown  as  a  thriving  farmer's 
wife.  She  allowed  the  pretty  trifles  of  agricultural  do 
mesticity  to  glide  by  her  as  sorry  details,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  children,  Darton's  house  would  have  seemed 
but  little  brighter  than  it  had  been  before. 

This  led  to  occasional  unpleasantness,  until  Darton 
sometimes  declared  to  himself  that  such  endeavors  as  his 
to  rectify  early  deviations  of  the  heart  by  harking  back 
to  the  old  point  mostly  failed  of  success.  "  Perhaps  Johns 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  141 

was  right,"  he  would  say.  "  I  should  have  gone  on  with 
Sally.  Better  go  with  the  tide  and  make  the  best  of  its 
course  than  stem  it  at  the  risk  of  a  capsize."  But  he  kept 
these  unmelodious  thoughts  to  himself,  and  was  outward 
ly  considerate  and  kind. 

This  somewhat  barren  tract  of  his  life  had  extended  to 
less  than  a  year  and  a  half  when  his  ponderings  were  cut 
short  by  the  loss  of  the  woman  they  concerned.  When 
she  was  in  her  grave  he  thought  better  of  her  than  when 
she  had  been  alive ;  the  farm  was  a  worse  place  without 
her  than  with  her,  after  all.  "No  woman  short  of  divine 
could  have  gone  through  such  an  experience  as  hers  with 
her  first  husband  without  becoming  a  little  soured.  Her 
stagnant  sympathies,  her  sometimes  unreasonable  manner, 
had  covered  a  heart  frank  and  well  meaning,  and  original 
ly  hopeful  and  warm.  She  left  him  a  tiny  red  infant  in 
white  wrappings.  To  make  life  as  easy  as  possible  to  this 
touching  object  became  at  once  his  care. 

As  this  child  learned  to  walk  and  talk,  Darton  learned 
to  see  feasibility  in  a  scheme  which  pleased  him.  Re 
volving  the  experiment  which  he  had  hitherto  made  upon 
life,  he  fancied  he  had  gained  wisdom  from  his  mistakes 
and  caution  from  his  miscarriages. 

What  the  scheme  was  needs  no  penetration  to  discover. 
Once  more  he  had  opportunity  to  recast  and  rectify  his 
ill-wrought  situations  by  returning  to  Sally  Hall,  who  still 
lived  quietly  on  under  her  mother's  roof  at  Hintock.  He 
lena  had  been  a  woman  to  lend  pathos  and  refinement  to 
a  home  ;  Sally  was  the  woman  to  brighten  it.  She  would 
not,  as  Helena  did,  despise  the  rural  simplicities  of  a  farm 
er's  fireside.  Moreover,  she  had  a  pre-eminent  qualifica 
tion  for  Barton's  household  ;  no  other  woman  could  make 
so  desirable  a  mother  to  her  brother's  two  children  and 
Darton's  one  as  Sally — while  Darton,  now  that  Helena 
had  gone,  was  a  more  promising  husband  for  Sally  than 
he  had  ever  been  when  liable  to  reminders  from  an  un- 
cured  sentimental  wound. 

Darton  was  not  a  man  to  act  rapidly,  and  the  working 


142  WESSEX  TALES. 

out  of  his  reparative  designs  might  have  been  delayed  for 
some  time.  But  there  came  a  winter  evening  precisely 
like  the  one  which  had  darkened  over  that  former  ride  to 
Hintock,  and  he  asked  himself  why  he  should  postpone 
longer,  when  the  very  landscape  called  for  a  repetition  of 
that  attempt. 

He  told  his  man  to  saddle  the  mare,  booted  and  spurred 
himself  with  a  younger  horseman's  nicety,  kissed  the  two 
youngest  children,  and  rode  off.  To  make  the  journey  a 
complete  parallel  to  the  first,  he  would  fain  have  had  his 
old  acquaintance  Japheth  Johns  with  him.  But  Johns, 
alas !  was  missing.  His  removal  to  the  other  side  of  the 
county  had  left  unrepaired  the  breach  which  had  arisen 
between  him  and  Dartori;  and  though  Darton  had  for 
given  him  a  hundred  times,  as  Johns  had  probably  for 
given  Darton,  the  effort  of  reunion  in  present  circum 
stances  was  one  not  likely  to  be  made. 

He  screwed  himself  up  to  as  cheerful  a  pitch  as  he 
could  without  nis  former  crony,  and  became  content  with 
his  own  thoughts  as  he  rode,  instead  of  the  words  of  a 
companion.  The  sun  went  down ;  the  boughs  appeared 
scratched  in  like  an  etching  against  the  sky ;  old  crooked 
men  with  fagots  at  their  backs  said  "  Good-night,  sir,"  and 
Darton  replied  "  Good-night "  right  heartily. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  forking  roads  it  was  getting 
as  dark  as  it  had  been  on  the  occasion  when  Johns  climbed 
the  directing-post.  Darton  made  no  mistake  this  time. 
"Nor  shall  I  be  able  to  mistake,  thank  Heaven,  when  I 
arrive,"  he  murmured.  It  gave  him  peculiar  satisfaction 
to  think  that  the  proposed  marriage,  like  his  first,  was  of 
the  nature  of  setting  in  order  things  long  awry,  and  not  a 
momentary  freak  of  fancy. 

Nothing  hindered  the  smoothness  of  his  journey,  which 
seemed  not  half  its  former  length.  Though  dark,  it  was 
only  between  five  and  six  o'clock  when  the  bulky  chim 
neys  of  Mrs.  Hall's  residence  appeared  in  view  behind  the 
sycamore-tree.  He  put  up  at  the  "  Sheaf  of  Arrows  "  as 
in  former  time;  and  when  he  had  plumed  himself  before 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  143 

the  inn  mirror,  called  for  a  glass  of  negus,  and  smoothed 
out  the  incipient  wrinkles  of  care,  he  walked  on  to  the 
Knap  with  a  quick  step. 


V. 

THAT  evening  Sally  was  making  "pinners"  for  the 
milkers,  which  were  now  increased  by  two,  for  her  moth 
er  and  herself  no  longer  joined  in  milking  the  cows  them 
selves.  But  upon  the  whole  there  was  little  change  in 
the  household  economy,  and  not  much  in  its  appearance, 
beyond  such  minor  particulars  as  that  the  crack  over  the 
window,  which  had  been  a  hundred  years  coming,  was  a 
trifle  wider;  that  the  beams  were  a  shade  blacker;  that 
the  influence  of  modernism  had  supplanted  the  open  chim 
ney-corner  by  a  grate ;  that  Susannah,  who  had  worn  a  cap 
when  she  had  plenty  of  hair,  had  left,  it  jjf.  now  she  had 
scarce  any,  because  it  was  reported  that  caps  were  not 
fashionable;  and  that  Sally's  face  had  naturally  assumed 
a  more  womanly  and  experienced  cast. 

Mrs.  Hall  was  actually  lifting  coals  with  the  tongs,  as 
she  used  to  do. 

"  Five  years  ago  this  very  night,  if  I  am  not  mistaken — " 
she  said,  laying  on  an  ember. 

"Not  this  very  night  —  though  'twas  one  night  this 
week,"  said  the  correct  Sally. 

"  Well,  'tis  near  enough.  Five  years  ago  Mr.  Darton 
came  to  marry  you,  and  my  poor  boy  Phil  came  home  to 
die."  She  sighed.  "Ah,  Sail}7,"  she  presently  said,  "if 
you  had  managed  well  Mr.  Darton  would  have  had  you, 
Helena  or  none." 

"Don't  be  sentimental  about  that,  mother,"  begged 
Sally.  "I  didn't  care  to  manage  well  in  such  a  case. 
Though  I  liked  him,  I  wasn't  so  anxious.  I  would  never 
have  married  the  man  in  the  midst  of  such  a  hitch  as  that 
was,"  she  added,  with  decision;  "and  I  4on't  think  I 
would  if  he  were  to  ask  me  now," 


144  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  that,  unless  you  have  another  in 
your  eye." 

"  I  wouldn't;  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  I  could  hardly  mar 
ry  him  for  love  at  this  time  o'  day.  And  as  we've  quite 
enough  to  live  on  if  we  give  up  the  dairy  to-morrow,  I 
should  have  no  need  to  marry  for  any  meaner  reason.  .  .  . 
I  am  quite  happy  enough  as  I  am,  and  there's  an  end  o't." 

Now,  it  was  not  long  after  this  dialogue  that  there  came 
a  mild  rap  at  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  there  entered 
Susannah,  looking  as  though  a  ghost  had  arrived.  The 
fact  was  that  that  accomplished  skimmer  and  churner 
(now  a  resident  in  the  house)  had  overheard  the  desultory 
observations  between  mother  and  daughter,  and  on  open 
ing  the  door  to  Mr.  Darton  thought  the  coincidence  must 
have  a  grisly  meaning  in  it.  Mrs.  Hall  welcomed  the 
farmer  with  warm  surprise,  as  did  Sally,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  they  rather  wanted  words. 

"  Can  you  push  up  the  chimney-crook  for  me,  Mr.  Dar 
ton  ?  the  notches  hitch,"  said  the  matron.  He  did  it,  and 
the  homely  little  act  bridged  over  the  awkward  conscious 
ness  that  he  had  been  a  stranger  for  four  years. 

Mrs.  Hall  soon  saw  what  he  had  come  for,  and  left  the 
principals  together  while  she  went  to  prepare  him  a  late 
tea,  smiling  at  Sally's  late  hasty  assertions  of  indifference, 
when  she  saw  how  civil  Sally  was.  When  tea  was  ready 
she  joined  them.  She  fancied  that  Darton  did  not  look 
so  confident  as  when  he  had  arrived ;  but  Sally  was  quite 
light-hearted,  and  the  meal  passed  pleasantly. 

About  seven  he  took  his  leave  of  them.  Mrs.  Hall 
went  as  far  as  the  door  to  light  him  down  the  slope.  On 
the  door-step  he  said,  frankly, 

"  I  came  to  ask  your  daughter  to  marry  me ;  chose  the 
night  and  everything,  with  an  eye  to  a  favorable  answer. 
But  she  won't." 

"  Then  she's  a  very  ungrateful  girl !"  emphatically  said 
Mrs.  Hall. 

Darton  paused  to  shape  his  sentence,  and  asked,  "  I — I 
suppose  there's  nobody  else  more  favored  ?" 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  145 

"  I  can't  say  that  there  is,  or  that  there  isn't,"  answered 
Mrs.  Hall.  "  She's  private  in  some  things.  I'm  on  your 
side,  however,  Mr.  Darton,  and  I'll  talk  to  her." 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye !"  said  the  farmer,  in  a  gayer  ac 
cent;  and  with  this  assurance  the  not  very  satisfactory 
visit  came  to  an  end.  Darton  descended  the  roots  of  the 
sycamore,  the  light  was  withdrawn,  and  the  door  closed. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  he  nearly  ran  against  a  man 
about  to  ascend. 

u  Can  a  jack-o'-lent  believe  his  few  senses  on  such  a  dark 
night,  or  can't  he?"  exclaimed  one  whose  utterance  Dar 
ton  recognized  in  a  moment,  despite  its  unexpectedness. 
"  I  dare  not  swear  he  can,  though  I  fain  would !"  The 
speaker  was  Johns. 

Darton  said  he  was  glad  of  this  opportunity,  bad  as  it 
was,  of  putting  an  end  to  the  silence  of  years,  and  asked 
the  dairy-man  what  he  was  travelling  that  way  for. 

Japheth  showed  the  old  jovial  confidence  in  a  moment. 
"  I'm  going  to  see  your — relations — as  they  always  seem 
to  me,"  he  said— "  Mrs.  Hall  and  Sally.  Well,  Charles, 
the  fact  is  I  find  the  natural  barbarousness  of  man  is  much 
increased  by  a  bachelor  life,  and,  as  your  leavings  were 
always  good  enough  for  me,  I'm  trying  civilization  here." 
He  nodded  towards  the  house. 

"Not  with  Sally — to  marry  her?"  said  Darton,  feeling 
something  like  a  rill  of  ice-water  between  his  shoulders. 

"  Yes,  by  the  help  of  Providence  and  my  personal 
charms.  And  I  think  I  shall  get  her.  I  am  on  this  road 
every  week — my  present  dairy  is  only  four  miles  off,  you 
know — and  I  see  her  through  the  window.  'Tis  rather 
odd  that  I  was  going  to  speak  practical  to-night  to  her 
for  the  first  time.  You've  just  called?" 

"Yes,  for  a  short  while.  But  she  didn't  say  a  word 
about  you." 

"  A  good  sign,  a  good  sign.  Now,  that  decides  me. 
I'll  swing  the  mallet  and  get  her  answer  this  very  night, 
as  I  planned." 

A  few  more  remarks  and  Darton,  wishing  his  friend 
10 


146  WESSEX  TALES. 

joy  of  Sally  in  a  slightly  hollow  tone  of  jocularity,  bade 
him  good-by.  Johns  promised  to  write  particulars,  and 
ascended  and  was  lost  in  the  shade  of  the  house  and  tree. 
A  rectangle  of  light  appeared  when  Johns  was  admitted, 
and  all  was  dark  again. 

" Happy  Japheth!"  said  Darton.  "This,  then,  is  the 
explanation  !" 

He  determined  to  return  home  that  night.  In  a  quar 
ter  of  an  hour  he  passed  out  of  the  village,  and  the  next 
day  went  about  his  swede-lifting  and  storing  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred. 

He  waited  and  waited  to  hear  from  Johns  whether  the 
wedding-day  was  fixed ;  but  no  letter  came.  He  learned 
not  a  single  particular  till,  meeting  Johns  one  day  at  a 
horse -auction,  Darton  exclaimed,  genially  —  rather  more 
genially  than  he  felt — "  When  is  the  joyful  day  to  be  ?" 

To  his  great  surprise,  a  reciprocity  of  gladness  was  not 
conspicuous  in  Johns.  "Not  at  all,"  he  said,  in  a  very 
subdued  tone.  "  'Tis  a  bad  job  ;  she  won't  have  me." 

Darton  held  his  breath  till  he  said,  with  treacherous 
solicitude,  "  Try  again  ;  'tis  coyness." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Johns,  decisively.  "There's  been  none 
of  that.  We  talked  it  over  dozens  of  times  in  the  most 
fair  and  square  way.  She  tells  me  plainly  I  don't  suit 
her.  'Twould  be  simply  annoying  her  to  ask  her  again. 
Ah,  Charles,  you  threw  a  prize  away  when  you  let  her  slip 
five  years  ago." 

"  I  did— I  did,"  said  Darton. 

He  returned  from  that  auction  with  a  new  set  of  feel 
ings  in  play.  He  had  certainly  made  a  surprising  mistake 
in  thinking  Johns  his  successful  rival.  It  really  seemed 
as  if  he  might  hope  for  Sally  after  all. 

This  time,  being  rather  pressed  by  business,  Darton 
had  recourse  to  pen  and  ink,  and  wrote  her  as  manly  and 
straightforward  a  proposal  as  any  woman  could  wish  to 
receive.  The  reply  came  promptly  : 

"  DEAR  ME.  DARTON, — I  am  as  sensible  as  any  woman 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE   KNAP.  14:7 

can  be  of  the  goodness  that  leads  you  to  make  me  this 
offer  a  second  time.  Better  women  than  I  would  be 
proud  of  the  honor;  for  when  I  read  your  nice  long 
speeches  on  mangel-wurzel  and  such-like  topics  at  the 
Casterbridge  Farmers'  Club,  I  do  feel  it  an  honor,  I  assure 
you.  But  my  answer  is  just  the  same  as  before.  I  will 
not  try  to  explain  what,  in  truth,  I  cannot  explain — my 
reasons ;  I  will  simply  say  that  I  must  decline  to  be  mar 
ried  to  you.  With  good  wishes  as  in  former  times,  I  am, 
your  faithful  friend,  SALLY  HALL." 

Darton  dropped  the  letter  hopelessly.  Beyond  the 
negative,  there  was  just  a  possibility  of  sarcasm  in  it— 
"nice  long  speeches  on  mangel-wurzel"  had  a  suspi 
cious  sound.  However,  sarcasm  or  none,  there  was  the 
answer,  and  he  had  to  be  content. 

He  proceeded  to  seek  relief  in  a  business  which  at  this 
time  engrossed  much  of  his  attention — that  of  clearing 
up  a  curious  mistake  just  current  in  the  county — that  he 
had  been  nearly  ruined  by  the  recent  failure  of  a  local 
bank.  A  farmer  named  Darton  had  lost  heavily,  and  the 
similarity  of  name  had  probably  led  to  the  error.  Belief 
in  it  was  so  persistent  that  it  demanded  several  days  of  let 
ter-writing  to  set  matters  straight  and  persuade  the  world 
that  he  was  as  solvent  as  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life. 
He  had  hardly  concluded  this  worrying  task  when,  to  his 
delight,  another  letter  arrived  in  the  handwriting  of  Sally. 

Darton  tore  it  open ;  it  was  very  short. 

"  DEAR  ME.  DARTON,— We  have  been  so  alarmed  these 
last  few  days  by  the  report  that  you  were  ruined  by  the 

stoppage  of  's  Bank,  that,  now  it  is  contradicted,  I 

hasten,  by  my  mother's  wish,  to  say  how  truly  glad  we 
are  to  find  there  is  no  foundation  for  the  report.  After 
your  kindness  to  my  poor  brother's  children,  I  can  do  no 
less  than  write  at  such  a  moment.  We  had  a  letter  from 
each  of  them  a  few  days  ago.  Your  faithful  friend, 

"SALLY  HALL." 


148  WESSEX  TALES. 

"Mercenary  little  woman!"  said  Darton  to  himself, 
with  a  smile.  "  Then  that  was  the  secret  of  her  refusal 
this  time — she  thought  I  was  ruined." 

Now,  such  was  Darton,  that  as  hours  went  on  he  could 
not  help  feeling  too  generously  towards  Sally  to  condemn 
her  in  this.  What  did  he  want  in  a  wife,  he  asked  him 
self.  Love  and  integrity.  What  next?  Worldly  wis 
dom.  And  was  there  really  more  than  worldly  wisdom 
in  her  refusal  to  go  aboard  a  sinking  ship?  She  now 
knew  it  was  otherwise.  "  Begad,"  he  said,  "  I'll  try  her 
again." 

The  fact  was  he  had  so  set  his  heart  upon  Sally,  and 
Sally  alone,  that  nothing  was  to  be  allowed  to  balk  him ; 
and  his  reasoning  was  purely  formal. 

Anniversaries  having  been  un propitious,  he  waited  on 
till  a  bright  day  late  in  May — a  day  when  all  animate  nat 
ure  was  fancying,  in  its  trusting,  foolish  way,  that  it  was 
going  to  bask  out-of-doors  for  evermore.  As  he  rode 
through  Holloway  Lane  it  was  scarce  recognizable  as  the 
track  of  his  two  winter  journeys.  No  mistake  could  be 
made  now,  even  with  his  eyes  shut.  The  cuckoo's  note 
was  at  its  best,  between  April  tentativeness  arid  midsum 
mer  decrepitude,  and  the  reptiles  in  the  sun  behaved  as 
winningly  as  kittens  on  a  hearth.  Though  afternoon, 
and  about  the  same  time  as  on  the  last  occasion,  it  was 
broad  day  and  sunshine  when  he  entered  Hintock,  and 
the  details  of  the  Knap  dairy-house  were  visible  far  up 
the  road.  He  saw  Sally  in  the  garden,  and  was  set  vibrat 
ing.  He  had  first  intended  to  go  on  to  the  inn ;  but 
"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  tie  my  horse  to  the  garden  gate.  If 
all  goes  well  it  can  soon  be  taken  round ;  if  not,  I  mount 
and  ride  away." 

The  tall  shade  of  the  horseman  darkened  the  room  in 
which  Mrs.  Hall  sat,  and  made  her  start,  for  he  had  ridden 
by  a  side  path  to  the  top  of  the  slope,  where  riders  seldom 
came.  In  a  few  seconds  he  was  in  the  garden  with  Sally. 

Five — ay,  three — minutes  did  the  business  at  the  back 
of  that  row  of  bees.  Though  spring  had  come,  and  heav- 


INTERLOPERS  AT  THE  KNAP.  149 

enly  blue  consecrated  the  scene,  Darton  succeeded  not. 
"-ZT0,"  said  Sally,  firmly.  "I  will  never,  never  marry 
you,  Mr.  Darton.  I  would  have  done  it  once;  but  now 
I  never  can." 

"But,"  implored  Mr.  Darton.  And  with  a  burst  of 
real  eloquence  he  went  on  to  declare  all  sorts  of  things 
that  he  would  do  for  her.  He  would  drive  her  to  see  her 
mother  every  week — take  her  to  London — settle  so  much 
money  upon  her — Heaven  knows  what  he  did  not  prom 
ise,  suggest,  and  tempt  her  with.  But  it  availed  nothing. 
She  interposed  with  a  stout  negative,  which  closed  the 
course  of  his  argument  like  an  iron  gate  across  a  highway. 
Darton  paused. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  simply,  "you  hadn't  heard  of  my  sup 
posed  failure  when  you  declined  last  time?" 

"I  had  not,"  she  said.  "But  if  I  had  'twould  have 
been  all  the  same." 

"And  'tis  not  because  of  any  soreness  from  my  slight 
ing  you  years  ago  ?" 

"  No.     That  soreness  is  long  past." 

"Ah,  then  you  despise  me,  Sally !" 

"No,"  she  slowly  answered.  "I  don't  altogether  de 
spise  yoji.  I  don't  think  you  quite  such  a  hero  as  I  once 
did — that's  all.  The  truth  is,  I  am  happy  enough  as  I 
am  ;  and  I  don't  mean  to  marry  at  all.  Now,  may  _/  ask 
a  favor,  sir?"  She  spoke  with  an  ineffable  charm,  which, 
whenever  he  thought  of  it,  made  him  curse  his  loss  of  her 
as  long  as  he  lived. 

"  To  any  extent." 

"Please  do  not  put  this  question  to  me  any  more. 
Friends  as  long  as  you  like,  but  lovers  and  married 
never." 

"I  never  will,"  said  Darton.  "Not  if  I  live  a  hundred 
years." 

And  he  never  did.  That  he  had  worn  out  his  welcome 
in  her  heart  was  only  too  plain. 

When  his  step-children  had  grown  up,  and  were  placed 
out  in  life,  all  communication  between  Darton  and  the 


150  WESSEX  TALES. 

Hall  family  ceased.  It  was  only  by  chance  that,  years 
after,  he  learned  that  Sally,  notwithstanding  the  solicita 
tions  her  attractions  drew  down  upon  her,  had  refused 
several  offers  of  marriage,  and  steadily  adhered  to  her 
purpose  of  leading  a  single  life. 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER. 


i. 

HOW  HIS  COLD  WAS  CURED. 

SOMETHING  delayed  the  arrival  of  the  Wesley  an  min 
ister,  and  a  young  man  came  temporarily  in  his  stead. 
It  was  on  the  thirteenth  of  January,  183-,  that  Mr.  Stock- 
dale,  the  young  man  in  question,  made  his  humble  entry 
into  the  village,  unknown,  and  almost  unseen.  But  when 
those  of  the  inhabitants  who  styled  themselves  of  his 
connection  became  acquainted  with  him,  they  were  rather 
pleased  with  the  substitute  than  otherwise,  though  he  had 
scarcely  as  yet  acquired  ballast  of  character  sufficient  to 
steady  the  consciences  of  the  hundred  and  forty  Metho 
dists  of  pure  blood  who,  at  this  time,  lived  in  Nether- 
Mynton,  and  to  give  in  addition  supplementary  support 
to  the  mixed  race  which  went  to  church  in  the  morning 
and  chapel  in  the  evening,  or  when  there  was  a  tea — as 
many  as  a  hundred  and  ten  people  more,  all  told,  and  in 
cluding  the  parish-clerk  in  the  winter-time,  when  it  was 
too  dark  for  the  vicar  to  observe  who  passed  up  the  street 
at  seven  o'clock — which,  to  be  just  to  him,  he  was  never 
anxious  to  do. 

It  was  owing  to  this  overlapping  of  creeds  that  the 
celebrated  population-puzzle  arose  among  the  denser  gen 
try  of  the  district  around  Nether-Mynton ;  how  could  it 
be  that  a  parish  containing  fifteen  score  of  strong,  full- 
grown  Episcopalians,  and  nearly  thirteen  score  of  well- 
matured  Dissenters,  numbered  barely  two  -  and  -  twenty 
score  adults  in  all  ? 


152  WESSEX  TALES. 

The  young  man  being  personally  interesting,  those  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact  were  content  to  waive  for  a 
while  the  graver  question  of  his  sufficiency.  It  is  said 
that  at  this  time  of  his  life  his  eyes  were  affectionate, 
though  without  a  ray  of  levity ;  that  his  hair  was  curly, 
and  his  figure  tall ;  that  he  was,  in  short,  a  very  lovable 
youth,  who  won  upon  his  female  hearers  as  soon  as  they 
saw  and  heard  him,  and  caused  them  to  say, "  Why  didn't 
we  know  of  this  before  he  came,  that  we  might  have  gied 
him  a  warmer  welcome !" 

The  fact  was  that,  knowing  him  to  be  only  provision 
ally  selected,  and  expecting  nothing  remarkable  in  his 
person  or  doctrine,  they  and  the  rest  of  his  flock  in  Neth- 
er-Myriton  had  felt  almost  as  indifferent  about  his  advent 
as  if  they  had  been  the  soundest  church-going  parishion 
ers  in  the  country,  and  he  their  true  and  appointed  par 
son.  Thus  when  Stockdale  set  foot  in  the  place  nobody 
had  secured  a  lodging  for  him,  and  though  his  journey  had 
given  him  a  bad  cold  in  the  head,  he  was  forced  to  attend 
to  that  business  himself.  On  inquiry  he  found  that  the 
only  possible  accommodation  in  the  village  would  be 
found  at  the  house  of  one  Mrs.  Lizzy  New  berry,  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  street. 

It  was  a  youth  who  gave  this  information,  and  Stock- 
dale  asked  him  who  Mrs.  Newberry  might  be. 

The  boy  said  that  she  was  a  widow-woman,  who  had 
got  no  husband,  because  he  was  dead.  Mr.  dewberry,  he 
added,  had  been  a  well-to-do  man  enough,  as  the  saying 
was,  and  a  farmer ;  but  he  had  gone  off  in  a  decline.  As 
regarded  Mrs.  Newberry's  serious  side,  Stockdale  gathered 
that  she  was  one  of  the  trimmers  who  went  to  church  and 
chapel  both. 

"  I'll  go  there,"  said  Stockdale,  feeling  that,  in  the  ab 
sence  of  purely  sectarian  lodgings,  he  could  do  no  better. 

"  She's  a  little  particular,  and  won't  hae  gover'ment 
folks,  or  curates,  or  the  pa'son's  friends,  or  such  like,"  said 
the  lad,  dubiously. 

"  Ah,  that  may  be  a  promising  sign.     I'll  call.     Or  no ; 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  153 

jnst  yon  go  up  and  ask  first  if  she  can  find  room  for  me. 
I  have  to  see  one  or  two  persons  on  another  matter.  You 
will  find  me  down  at  the  carrier's." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  lad  came  back,  and  said 
that  Mrs.  Newberry  would  have  no  objection  to  accommo 
date  him,  whereupon  Stockdale  called  at  the  house.  It 
stood  within  a  garden  hedge,  and  seemed  to  be  roomy  and 
comfortable.  He  saw  an  elderly  woman,  with  whom  he 
made  arrangements  to  come  the  same  night,  since  there 
was  no  inn  in  the  place,  and  he  wished  to  house  himself 
as  soon  as  possible ;  the  village  being  a  local  centre  from 
which  he  was  to  radiate  at  once  to  the  different  small 
chapels  in  the  neighborhood.  He  forthwith  sent  his  lug 
gage  to  Mrs.  dewberry's  from  the  carrier's,  where  he  had 
taken  shelter,  and  in  the  evening  walked  up  to  his  tem 
porary  home. 

As  he  now  lived  there,  Stockdale  felt  it  unnecessary  to 
knock  at  the  door ;  and  entering  quietly,  he  had  the  pleas 
ure  of  hearing  footsteps  scudding  away  like  mice  into  the 
back  quarters.  He  advanced  to  the  parlor,  as  the  front 
room  was  called,  though  its  stone  floor  was  scarcely  dis 
guised  by  the  carpet,  which  overlaid  only  the  trodden 
areas,  leaving  sandy  deserts  under  the  furniture.  But  the 
room  looked  snug  and  cheerful.  The  firelight  shone  out 
brightly,  trembling  on  the  bulging  mouldings  of  the  table- 
legs,  playing  with  brass  knobs  and  handles,  and  lurking 
in  great  strength  on  the  under  surface  of  the  chimney- 
piece.  A  deep  arm-chair,  covered  with  horse -hair,  and 
studded  with  a  countless  throng  of  brass  nails,  was  pulled 
up  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace.  The  tea-things  were  on 
the  table,  the  teapot  cover  was  open,  and  a  little  hand-bell 
had  been  laid  at  that  precise  point  towards  which  a  person 
seated  in  the  great  chair  might  be  expected  instinctively 
to  stretch  his  hand. 

Stockdale  sat  down,  not  objecting  to  his  experience  of 
the  room  thus  far,  and  began  his  residence  by  tinkling  the 
bell.  A  little  girl  crept  in  at  the  summons,  and  made  tea 
for  him.  Her  name,  she  said,  was  Marther  Sarer,  and  she 


154  WESSEX  TALES. 

lived  out  there,  nodding  towards  the  road  and  village  gen 
erally.  Before  Stockdale  had  got  far  with  his  meal  a  tap 
sounded  on  the  door  behind  him,  and  on  his  telling  the 
inquirer  to  come  in,  a  rustle  of  garments  caused  him  to 
turn  his  head.  He  saw  before  him  a  fine  and  extremely 
well-made  young  woman,  with  dark  hair,  a  wide,  sensible, 
beautiful  forehead,  eyes  that  warmed  him  before  he  knew 
it,  and  a  mouth  that  was  in  itself  a  picture  to  all  appre 
ciative  souls. 

"  Can  I  get  you  anything  else  for  tea  ?"  she  said,  com 
ing  forward  a  step  or  two,  an  expression  of  liveliness  on 
her  features,  and  her  hand  waving  the  door  by  its  edge. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,"  said  Stockdale,  thinking  less  of 
what  he  replied  than  of  what  might  be  her  relation  to  the 
household. 

"You  are  quite  sure?"  said  the  young  woman,  appar 
ently  aware  that  he  had  not  considered  his  answer. 

He  conscientiously  examined  the  tea-things,  and  found 
them  all  there.  "  Quite  sure,  Miss  Newberry,"  he  said. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Newberry,"  said  she.  "Lizzy  Newberry. 
I  used  to  be  Lizzy  Simpkins." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Newberry."  And  before 
he  had  occasion  to  say  more  she  left  the  room. 

Stockdale  remained  in  some  doubt  till  Martha  Sarah 
came  to  clear  the  table.  "  Whose  house  is  this,  my  little 
woman  ?"  said  he. 

"  Mrs.  Lizzy  Newberry's,  sir." 

"  Then  Mrs.  Newberry  is  not  the  old  lady  I  saw  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"No.  That's  Mrs.  dewberry's  mother.  It  was  Mrs. 
Newberry  who  corned  in  to  you  just  by  now,  because  she 
wanted  to  see  if  you  was  good-looking." 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Stockdale  was  about  to  be 
gin  supper,  she  came  again.  "I  have  come  myself,  Mr. 
Stockdale,"  she  said.  The  minister  stood  up  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  the  honor.  "  I  am  afraid  little  Marther  might 
not  make  you  understand.  What  will  you  have  for  sup 
per  ?  There's  cold  rabbit,  and  there's  a  ham  uncut." 


THE   DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  155 

Stockdale  said  he  could  get  on  nicely  with  those  viands, 
and  supper  was  laid.  He  had  no  more  than  cut  a  slice 
when  tap-tap  came  to  the  door  again.  The  minister  had 
already  learned  that  this  particular  rhythm  in  taps  de 
noted  the  fingers  of  his  enkindling  landlady,  and  the 
doomed  young  fellow  buried  his  first  mouthful  under  a 
look  of  receptive  blandness. 

aWe  have  a  chicken  in  the  house,  Mr.  Stockdale;  I 
quite  forgot  to  mention  it  just  now.  Perhaps  you  would 
like  Marther  Sarer  to  bring  it  up?" 

Stockdale  had  advanced  far  enough  in  the  art  of  being 
a  young  man  to  say  that  he  did  not  want  the  chicken, 
unless  she  brought  it  up  herself ;  but  when  it  was  uttered 
he  blushed  at  the  daring  gallantry  of  the  speech,  perhaps 
a  shade  too  strong  for  a  serious  man  and  a  minister.  In 
three  minutes  the  chicken  appeared,  but,  to  his  great 
surprise,  only  in  the  hands  of  Martha  Sarah.  Stockdale 
was  disappointed,  which  perhaps  it  was  intended  that  he 
should  be. 

He  had  finished  supper,  and  was  not  in  the  least  antici 
pating  Mrs.  Newberry  again  that  night,  when  she  tapped 
and  entered  as  before.  Stockdale's  gratified  look  told  that 
she  had  lost  nothing  by  not  appearing  when  expected. 
It  happened  that  the  cold  in  the  head  from  which  the 
young  man  suffered  had  increased  with  the  approach  of 
night,  and  before  she  had  spoken  he  was  seized  with  a 
violent  fit  of  sneezing,  which  he  could  not  anyhow  re 
press. 

Mrs.  Newberry  looked  full  of  pity.  "  Your  cold  is  very 
bad  to-night,  Mr.  gtockdale." 

Stockdale  replied  that  it  was  rather  troublesome. 

"And  I've  a  good  mind — "  she  added,  archly,  looking 
at  the  cheerless  glass  of  water  on  the  table,  which  the 
abstemious  young  minister  was  going  to  drink. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  dewberry  ?" 

"I've  a  good  mind  that  you  should  have  something 
more  likely  to  cure  it  than  that  cold  stuff." 

"  Well,"  said  Stockdale,  looking  down  at  the  glass,  "  as 


156  WESSEX  TALES. 

there  is  no  inn  here,  and  nothing  better  to  be  got  in  the 
village,  of  course  it  will  do." 

To  this  she  replied,  "There  is  something  better,  not 
far  off,  though  not  in  the  house.  I  really  think  you  must 
try  it,  or  you  may  be  ill.  Yes,  Mr.  Stockdale,  you  shall." 
She  held  up  her  finger,  seeing  that  he  was  about  to  speak. 
"  Don't  ask  what  it  is;  wait,  and  you  shall  see." 

Lizzy  went  away,  and  Stockdale  waited  in  a  pleasant 
mood.  Presently  she  returned  with  her  bonnet  and  cloak 
on,  saying,  "I  am  so  sorry,  but  you  must  help  me  to  get 
it.  Mother  has  gone  to  bed.  Will  you  wrap  yourself  up, 
and  come  this  way,  and  please  bring  that  cup  with  you  ?" 

Stockdale,  a  lonely  young  fellow,  who  had  for  weeks 
felt  a  great  craving  for  somebody  on  whom  to  throw 
away  superfluous  interest,  and  even  tenderness,  was  not 
sorry  to  join  her,  and  followed  his  guide  through  the 
back  door,  across  the  garden  to  the  bottom,  where  the 
boundary  was  a  wall.  This  wall  was  low,  and  beyond  it 
Stockdale  discerned  in  the  night-shades  several  gray  head 
stones,  and  the  outlines  of  the  church  roof  or  tower. 

"  It  is  easy  to  get  up  this  way,"  she  said,  stepping  upon 
a  bank  which  abutted  on  the  wall ;  then  putting  her  foot 
on  the  top  of  the  stone-work,  and  descending  by  a  spring 
inside,  where  the  ground  was  much  higher,  as  is  the  man 
ner  of  grave-yards  to  be.  Stockdale  did  the  same,  and 
followed  her  in  the  dusk  across  the  irregular  ground  till 
they  came  to  the  tower  door,  which,  when  they  had  en 
tered,  she  softly  closed  behind  them. 

"You  can  keep  a  secret?"  she  said, in  a  musical  voice. 

"  Like  an  iron  chest !"  said  he,  fervently. 

Then  from  under  her  cloak  she  produced  a  small  lighted 
lantern,  which  the  minister  had  not  noticed  that  she  car 
ried  at  all.  The  light  showed  them  to  be  close  to  the 
singing -gallery  stairs,  under  which  lay  a  heap  of  lumber 
of  all  sorts,  but  consisting  mostly  of  decayed  framework, 
pews,  panels,  and  pieces  of  flooring,  that  from  time  to  time 
had  been  removed  from  their  original  fixings  in  the  body 
of  the  edifice  and  replaced  by  new. 


THE  DISTRACTED  PKEACHER.  157 

"  Perhaps  you  will  drag  some  of  those  boards  aside  ?" 
she  said,  holding  the  lantern  over  her  head  to  light  him 
better.  "  Or  will  you  take  the  lantern  while  I  move 
them?" 

"  I  can  manage  it,"  said  the  young  man  ;  and  acting  as 
she  ordered,  he  uncovered,  to  his  surprise,  a  row  of  little 
barrels  bound  with  wood  hoops,  each  barrel  being  about 
as  large  as  the  nave  of  a  common  wagon-wheel.  When 
they  were  laid  open  Lizzy  fixed  her  eyes  on  him,  as  if  she 
wondered  what  he  would  say. 

"  You  know  what  they  are?"  she  asked,  finding  that  he 
did  not  speak. 

"Yes,  barrels,"  said  Stockdale3  simply.  He  was  an 
inland  man,  the  son  of  highly  respectable  parents,  and 
brought  up  with  a  single  eye  to  the  ministry,  and  the 
sight  suggested  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  such  articles 
were  there. 

"  You  are  quite  right ;  they  are  barrels/'  she  said,  in  an 
emphatic  tone  of  candor  that  was  not  without  a  touch  of 
irony. 

Stockdale  looked  at  her  with  an  eye  of  sudden  misgiv 
ing.  "  Not  smugglers'  liquor  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  They  are  tubs  of  spirits  that  have 
accidentally  come  over  in  the  dark  from  France." 

In  Nether-Mynton  and  its  vicinity  at  this  date  people 
always  smiled  at  the  sort  of  sin  called  in  the  outside  world 
illicit  trading,  and  these  little  tubs  of  gin  and  brandy  were 
as  well  known  to  the  inhabitants  as  turnips.  So  that 
Stockdale's  innocent  ignorance,  and  his  look  of  alarm 
when  he  guessed  the  sinister  mystery,  seemed  to  strike 
Lizzy  first  as  ludicrous,  and  then  as  very  awkward  for  the 
good  impression  that  she  wished  to  produce  upon  him. 

"  Smuggling  is  carried  on  here  by  some  of  the  people," 
she  said,  in  a  gentle,  apologetic  voice.  "  It  has  been  their 
practice  for  generations,  and  they  think  it  no  harm.  Now, 
will  you  roll  out  one  of  the  tubs  ?" 

"  What  to  d.o  with  it?"  said  the  minister. 

"  To  draw  a  little  from  it  to  cure  your  cold,"  she  an- 


158  WESSEX  TALES. 

swered.  "It  is  so  burning  strong  that  it  drives  away 
that  sort  of  thing  in  a  jiffy.  Oh,  it  is  all  right  about  our 
taking  it.  I  may  have  what  I  like ;  the  owner  of  the 
tubs  says  so.  I  ought  to  have  had  some  in  the  house,  and 
then  I  shouldn't  ha'  been  put  to  this  trouble ;  but  I  drink 
none  myself,  and  so  I  often  forget  to  keep  it  in-doors." 

"  You  are  allowed  to  help  yourself,  I  suppose,  that  you 
may  not  inform  where  their  hiding-place  is?" 

"Well,  no,  not  that  particularly,  but  I  may  take  some 
if  I  want  it.  So  help  yourself." 

"I  will,  to  oblige  you,  since  you  have  a  right  to  it," 
murmured  the  minister;  and  though  he  was  not  quite 
satisfied  with  his  part  in  the  performance,  he  rolled  one 
of  the  tubs  out  from  the  corner  into  the  middle  of  the 
tower  floor.  "  How  do  you  wish  me  to  get  it  out — with 
a  gimlet,  I  suppose?" 

"No;  I'll  show  you,"  said  his  interesting  companion. 
And  she  held  up  with  her  other  hand  a  shoemaker's  awl 
and  a  hammer.  "  You  must  never  do  these  things  with 
a  gimlet,  because  the  wood-dust  gets  in ;  and  when  the 
buyers  pour  out  the  brandy,  that  would  tell  them  that  the 
tub  had  been  broached.  An  awl  makes  no  dust,  and  the 
hole  nearly  closes  up  again.  Now  tap  one  of  the  hoops 
forward." 

Stockdale  took  the  hammer  and  did  so. 

"Now  make  the  hole  in  the  part  that  was  covered  by 
the  hoop." 

He  made  the  hole  as  directed.  "  It  won't  run  out,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  will,"  said  she.  "  Take  the  tub  between 
your  knees  and  squeeze  the  heads,  and  I'll  hold  the  cup." 

Stockdale  obeyed ;  and  the  pressure  taking  effect  upon 
the  tub,  which  seemed  to  be  thin,  the  spirits  spurted  out 
in  a  stream.  When  the  cup  was  full  he  ceased  pressing, 
and  the  flow  immediately  stopped.  "Now  we  must  fill 
up  the  keg  with  water,"  said  Lizzy, "  or  it  will  cluck  like 
forty  hens  when  it  is  handled,  and  show  that  'tis  not  full." 

"  But  they  tell  you  you  may  take  it  ?" 


THE   DISTRACTED   PKEACHER.  159 

"Yes,  the  smugglers;  but  the  buyers  must  not  know 
that  the  smugglers  have  been  kind  to  me  at  their  expense." 

"  I  see,"  said  Stockdale,  doubtfully.  "  I  much  question 
the  honesty  of  this  proceeding." 

By  her  direction  he  held  the  tub  with  the  hole  upward, 
and  while  he  went  through  the  process  of  alternately  press 
ing  and  ceasing  to  press  she  produced  a  bottle  of  water, 
from  which  she  took  mouthfuls,  then  putting  her  pretty 
lips  to  the  hole,  where  it  was  sucked  in  at  each  recovery 
of  the  cask  from  pressure.  When  it  was  again  full  he 
plugged  the  hole,  knocked  the  hoop  down  to  its  place, 
and  buried  the  tub  in  the  lumber  as  before. 

"Aren't  the  smugglers  afraid  that  you  will  tell?"  he 
asked  as  they  recrossed  the  church-yard. 

"  Oh  no ;  they  are  not  afraid  of  that.  I  couldn't  do 
such  a  thing." 

"  They  have  put  you  into  a  very  awkward  corner,"  said 
Stockdale,  emphatically.  "You  must,  of  course,  as  an 
honest  person,  sometimes  feel  that  it  is  your  duty  to  in 
form — really,  you  must." 

"  Well,  I  have  never  particularly  felt  it  as  a  duty ;  and, 
besides,  my  first  husband —  She  stopped,  and  there  was 
some  confusion  in  her  voice.  Stockdale  was  so  honest 
and  unsophisticated  that  he  did  not  at  once  discern  why 
she  paused ;  but  at  last  he  did  perceive  that  the  words 
were  a  slip,  and  that  no  woman  would  have  uttered  "first 
husband"  by  accident  unless  she  had  thought  pretty  fre 
quently  of  a  second.  He  felt  for  her  confusion,  and  al 
lowed  her  time  to  recover  and  proceed.  "My  husband," 
she  said,  in  a  self -corrected  tone,  "  used  to  know  of  their 
doings,  and  so  did  my  father,  and  kept  the  secret.  I  can 
not  inform,  in  fact,  against  anybody." 

"  I  see  the  hardness  of  it,"  he  continued,  like  a  man 
who  looked  far  into  the  moral  of  things.  "And  it  is  very 
cruel  that  you  should  be  tossed  and  tantalized  between 
your  memories  and  your  conscience.  I  do  hope,  Mrs. 
ISTewberry,  that  you  will  soon  see  your  way  out  of  this  un 
pleasant  position." 


160  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Well,  I  don't  just  now,"  she  murmured. 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  over  the  wall  and  entered 
the  house,  where  she  brought  him  a  glass  and  hot  water, 
and  left  him  to  his  own  reflections.  He  looked  after  her 
vanishing  form,  asking  himself  whether  he,  as  a  respect 
able  man,  and  a  minister,  and  a  shining  light,  even  though 
as  yet  only  of  the  halfpenny-candle  sort,  were  quite  justi 
fied  in  doing  this  thing.  A  sneeze  settled  the  question ; 
and  he  found  that  when  the  fiery  liquor  was  lowered  by 
the  addition  of  twice  or  thrice  the  quantity  of  water,  it 
was  one  of  the  prettiest  cures  for  a  cold  in  the  head  that 
he  had  ever  known,  particularly  at  this  chilly  time  of  the 
year. 

Stockdale  sat  in  the  deep  chair  about  twenty  minutes 
sipping  and  meditating,  till  he  at  length  took  warmer 
views  of  things,  and  longed  for  the  morrow,  when  he 
would  see  Mrs.  Newberry  again.  He  then  felt  that, 
though  chronologically  at  a  short  distance,  it  would,  in  an 
emotional  sense,  be  very  long  before  to-morrow  came,  and 
walked  restlessly  round  the  room.  His  eye  was  attracted 
by  a  framed  and  glazed  sampler  in  which  a  running  orna 
ment  of  fir-trees  and  peacocks  surrounded  the  following 
pretty  bit  of  sentiment: 

"Rose-leaves  smell  when  roses  thrive, 
Here's  my  work  while  I'm  alive; 
Rose-leaves  smell  when  shrunk  and  shed, 
Here's  my  work  when  I  am  dead. 

"  Lizzy  Simpkins.    Fear  God.    Honor  the  King.    Aged  11  years." 

"  'Tis  hers,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Heavens,  how  I  like 
that  name !" 

Before  he  had  done  thinking  that  no  other  name  from 
Abigail  to  Zenobia  would  have  suited  his  young  landlady 
so  well,  tap-tap  came  again  upon  the  door;  and  the  min 
ister  started  as  her  face  appeared  yet  another  time,  look 
ing  so  disinterested  that  the  most  ingenious  would  have 
refrained  from  asserting  that  she  had  come  to  affect  his 
feelings  by  her  seductive  eyes. 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  161 

"  Would  you  like  a  fire  in  your  room,  Mr.  Stockdale,  on 
account  of  your  cold?" 

The  minister,  being  still  a  little  pricked  in  the  con 
science  for  countenancing  her  in  watering  the  spirits,  saw 
here  a  way  to  self-chastisement.  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  he 
said, firmly;  "it  is  not  necessary.  I  have  never  been  used 
to  one  in  my  life,  and  it  would  be  giving  way  to  luxury 
too  far." 

"  Then  I  won't  insist,"  she  said,  and  disconcerted  him 
by  vanishing  instantly. 

Wondering  if  she  was  vexed  by  his  refusal,  he  wished 
that  he  had  chosen  to  have  a  fire,  even  though  it  should 
have  scorched  him  out  of  bed  and  endangered  his  self-dis 
cipline  for  a  dozen  days.  However,  he  consoled  himself 
with  what  was  in  truth  a  rare  consolation  for  a  budding 
lover,  that  he  was  under  the  same  roof  with  Lizzy — her 
guest,  in  fact,  to  take  a  poetical  view  of  the  term  lodger ; 
and  that  he  would  certainly  see  her  on  the  morrow. 

The  morrow  came,  and  Stockdale  rose  early,  his  cold 
quite  gone.  He  had  never  in  his  life  so  longed  for  the 
breakfast-hour  as  he  did  that  day,  and  punctually  at  eight 
o'clock,  after  a  short  walk,  to  reconnoitre  the  premises,  he 
re-entered  the  door  of  his  dwelling.  Breakfast  passed, 
and  Martha  Sarah  attended,  but  nobody  came  voluntarily 
as  on  the  night  before  to  inquire  if  there  were  other 
wants  which  he  had  not  mentioned,  and  which  she  would 
attempt  to  gratify.  He  was  disappointed,  and  went  out, 
hoping  to  see  her  at  dinner.  Dinner-time  came ;  he  sat 
down  to  the  meal,  finished  it,  lingered  on  for  a  whole 
hour,  although  two  new  teachers  were  at  that  moment 
waiting  at  the  chapel  door  to  speak  to  him  by  appoint 
ment.  It  was  useless  to  wait  longer,  and  he  slowly  went 
his  way  down  the  lane,  cheered  by  the  thought  that,  after 
all,  he  would  see  her  in  the  evening,  and  perhaps  engage 
again  in  the  delightful  tub-broaching  in  the  neighboring 
church  tower,  which  proceeding  he  resolved  to  render 
more  moral  by  steadfastly  insisting  that  no  water  should 
be  introduced  to  fill  up,  though  the  tub  should  cluck  like 
11 


102  WESSEX  TALES. 

all  the  hens  in  Christendom.  But  nothing  could  disguise 
the  fact  that  it  was  a  queer  business;  and  his  countenance 
fell  when  he  thought  how  much  more  his  mind  was  in 
terested  in  that  matter  than  in  his  serious  duties. 

However,  compunction  vanished  with  the  decline  of 
day.  Night  came,  and  his  tea  and  supper;  but  no  Lizzy 
Newberry,  and  no  sweet  temptations.  At  last  the  min 
ister  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  said  to  his  quaint  little 
attendant,  "  Where  is  Mrs.  Newberry  to-day  ?"  judiciously 
handing  a  penny  as  he  spoke. 

"She's  busy,"  said  Martha. 

"Anything  serious  happened?"  he  asked,  handing  an 
other  penny,  and  revealing  yet  additional  pennies  in  the 
background. 

"Oh  no,  nothing  at  all!"  said  she,  with  breathless  con 
fidence.  "Nothing  ever  happens  to  her.  She's  only 
biding  lip-stairs  in  bed,  because  'tis  her  way  sometimes." 

Being  a  young  man  of  some  honor,  he  would  not  ques 
tion  further,  and  assuming  that  Lizzy  must  have  a  bad 
headache,  or  other  slight  ailment,  in  spite  of  what  the 
girl  had  said,  he  went  to  bed  dissatisfied,  not  even  setting 
eyes  on  old  Mrs.  Simpkins.  "I  said  last  night  that  I 
should  see  her  to-morrow,"  he  reflected ;  "  but  that  was 
not  to  be." 

Next  day  he  had  better  fortune,  or  worse,  meeting  her 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  in  the  morning,  and  being  favor 
ed  by  a  visit  or  two  from  her  during  the  day — once  for 
the  purpose  of  making  kindly  inquiries  about  his  com 
fort,  as  on  the  first  evening,  and  at  another  time  to  place 
a  bunch  of  winter-violets  on  his  table,  with  a  promise  to 
renew  them  when  they  drooped.  On  these  occasions 
there  was  something  in  her  smile  which  showed  how  con 
scious  she  was  of  the  effect  she  produced,  though  it  must 
be  said  that  it  was  rather  a  humorous  than  a  designing 
consciousness,  and  savored  more  of  pride  than  of  vanity. 

As  for  Stockdale,  he  clearly  perceived  that  he  possessed 
unlimited  capacity  for  backsliding,  and  wished  that  tute 
lary  saints  were  not  denied  to  Dissenters,  He  set  a  watch 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  163 

upon  his  tongue  and  eyes  for  the  space  of  one  hour  and  a 
half,  after  which  he  found  it  was  useless  to  struggle  fur 
ther,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  situation.  "  The  other 
minister  will  be  here  in  a  month,"  he  said  to  himself  when 
sitting  over  the  fire.  "  Then  I  shall  be  off,  and  she  will 
distract  my  mind  no  more!  .  .  .  And  then,  shall  I  go  on 
living  by  myself  forever?  No;  when  my  two  years  of 
probation  are  finished,  I  shall  have  a  furnished  house  to 
live  in,  with  a  varnished  door  and  a  brass  knocker;  and 
I'll  march  straight  back  to  her,  and  ask  her  flat,  as  soon  as 
the  last  plate  is  on  the  dresser!" 

Thus  a  titillative  fortnight  was  passed  by  young  Stock- 
dale,  during  which  time  things  proceeded  much  as  such 
matters  have  done  ever  since  the  beginning  of  history. 
He  saw  the  object  of  attachment  several  times  one  day? 
did  not  see  her  at  all  the  next,  met  her  when  he  least  ex 
pected  to  do  so,  missed  her  when  hints  and  signs  as  to 
where  she  should  be  at  a  given  hour  almost  amounted  to 
an  appointment.  This  mild  coquetry  was  perhaps  fair 
enough  under  the  circumstances  of  their  being  so  closely 
lodged,  and  Stockdale  put  up  with  it  as  philosophically  as 
he  was  able.  Being  in  her  own  house,  she  could,  after 
vexing  or  disappointing  him  of  her  presence,  easily  win 
him  back  by  suddenly  surrounding  him  with  those  little 
attentions  which  her  position  as  his  landlady  put  it  in  her 
power  to  bestow.  When  he  had  waited  in-doors  half  the 
day  to  see  her,  and  on  finding  that  she  would  not  be  seen, 
had  gone  off  in  a  huff  to  the  dreariest  and  dampest  walk 
he  could  discover,  she  would  restore  equilibrium  in  the 
evening  with  "  Mr.  Stockdale,  I  have  fancied  you  must 
feel  draught  o'  nights  from  your  bedroom  window,  and  so 
I  have  been  putting  up  thicker  curtains  this  afternoon 
while  you  were  out ;"  or  "  I  noticed  that  you  sneezed 
twice  again  this  morning,  Mr.  Stockdale.  Depend  upon 
it,  that  cold  is  hanging  about  you  yet;  I  am  sure  it  is — I 
have  thought  of  it  continually ;  and  you  must  let  me  make 
a  posset  for  you." 

Sometimes  in  coming  home  he  found  his  sitting-room 


164  WESSEX  TALES. 

rearranged,  chairs  placed  where  the  table  had  stood,  and 
the  table  ornamented  with  the  few  fresh  flowers  arid 
leaves  that  could  be  obtained  at  this  season,  so  as  to  add  a 
novelty  to  the  room.  At  times  she  would  be  standing  in 
a  chair  outside  the  house,  trying  to  nail  up  a  branch  of 
the  monthly  rose  which  the  winter  wind  had  blown  down ; 
and  of  course  he  stepped  forward  to  assist  her,  when  their 
hands  got  mixed  in  passing  the  shreds  and  nails.  Thus 
they  became  friends  again  after  a  disagreement.  She 
would  utter  on  these  occasions  some  pretty  and  depreca 
tory  remark  on  the  necessity  of  her  troubling  him  anew ; 
and  he  would  straightway  say  that  he  would  do  a  hun 
dred  times  as  much  for  her  if  she  should  so  require. 


II. 

HOW  HE  SAW  TWO  OTHER  MEN. 

MATTERS  being  in  this  advanced  state,  Stockdale  was 
rather  surprised  one  cloudy  evening,  while  sitting  in  his 
room,  at  hearing  her  speak  in  low  tones  of  expostulation 
to  some  one  at  the  door.  It  was  nearly  dark,  but  the 
shutters  were  not  yet  closed,  nor  the  candles  lighted ;  and 
Stockdale  was  tempted  to  stretch  his  head  towards  the 
window.  He  saw  outside  the  door  a  young  man  in  clothes 
of  a  whitish  color,  and  upon  reflection  judged  their  wear 
er  to  be  the  well-built  and  rather  handsome  miller  who 
lived  below.  The  miller's  voice  was  alternately  low  and 
firm,  and  sometimes  it  reached  the  level  of  positive  en 
treaty  ;  but  what  the  words  were  Stockdale  could  in  no  way 
hear. 

Before  the  colloquy  had  ended,  the  minister's  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  second  incident.  Opposite  Lizzy's 
home  grew  a  clump  of  laurels,  forming  a  thick  and  per 
manent  shade.  One  of  the  laurel  boughs  now  quivered 
against  the  light  background  of  sky,  and  in  a  moment  the 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  165 

head  of  a  man  peered  out,  and  remained  still.  He  seemed 
to  be  also  much  interested  in  the  conversation  at  the  door, 
and  was  plainly  lingering  there  to  watch  and  listen.  Had 
Stockdale  stood  in  any  other  relation  to  Lizzy  than  that 
of  a  lover,  he  might  have  gone  out  and  examined  into  the 
meaning  of  this ;  but  being  as  yet  but  an  unprivileged  ally, 
he  did  nothing  more  than  stand  up  and  show  himself  in 
the  lighted  room,  whereupon  the  listener  disappeared,  and 
Lizzy  and  the  miller  spoke  in  lower  tones. 

Stockdale  was  made  so  uneasy  by  the  circumstance  that 
as  soon  as  the  miller  was  gone,  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Newberry, 
are  you  aware  that  you  were  watched  just  now,  and  your 
conversation  heard?" 

"  When  F  she  said 

"When  you  were  talking  to  that  miller.  A  man  was 
looking  from  the  laurel-tree  as  jealously  as  if  he  could 
have  eaten  you." 

She  showed  more  concern  than  the  trifling  event  seemed 
to  demandt  and  he  added,  "  Perhaps  you  were  talking  of 
things  you  did  not  wish  to  be  overheard  ?" 

"  I  was  talking  only  on  business,"  she  said. 

"  Lizzy,  be  frank !"  said  the  young  man.  "  If  it  was  only 
on  business,  why  should  anybody  wish  to  listen  to  you  F 

She  looked  curiously  at  him.  "What  else  do  you 
think  it  could  be,  then  F 

"  Well,  the  only  talk  between  a  young  woman  and  man 
that  is  likely  to  amuse  an  eavesdropper." 

"  Ah  yes,"  she  said,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  preoccupa 
tion.  "  Well,  Cousin  Owlett  has  spoken  to  me  about  mat 
rimony,  every  now  and  then,  that's  true ;  but  he  was  not 
speaking  of  it  then.  I  wish  he  had  been  speaking  of  it, 
with  all  my  heart.  It  would  have  been  much  less  seri 
ous  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Newberry !" 

"  It  would.  Not  that  I  should  ha'  chimed  in  with  him, 
of  course.  I  wish  it  for  other  reasons.  I  am  glad,  Mr. 
Stockdale,  that  you  have  told  me  of  that  listener.  It  is  a 
timely  warning,  and  I  must  see  my  cousin  again." 


160  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  But  don't  go  away  till  I  have  spoken,"  said  the  min 
ister.  "  I'll  out  with  it  at  once,  and  make  no  more  ado. 
Let  it  be  Yes  or  No  between  us.  Lizzy,  please  do!" 
And  he  held  out  his  hand,  in  which  she  freely  allowed 
her  own  to  rest,  but  without  speaking. 

"  You  mean  Yes  by  that  ?"  he  asked,  after  waiting  a 
while. 

"  You  may  be  my  sweetheart,  if  you  will." 

"Why  not  say  at  once  you  will  wait  for  me  until  I 
have  a  house  and  can  come  back  to  marry  you  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  thinking — thinking  of  something  else," 
she  said,  with  embarrassment.  "  It  all  comes  upon  me  at 
once,  and  I  must  settle  one  thing  at  a  time." 

"At  any  rate,  dear  Lizzy,  you  can  assure  me  that  the 
miller  shall  not  be  allowed  to  speak  to  you  except  on  busi 
ness?  You  have  never  directly  encouraged  him?" 

She  parried  the  question  by  saying,  "  You  see,  he  and 
his  party  have  been  in  the  habit  of  leaving  things  on  my 
premises  sometimes,  and  as  I  have  not  denied  him,  it 
makes  him  rather  forward." 

"  Things— what  things  ?" 

"  Tubs — they  are  called  things  here." 

"  But  why  don't  you  deny  him,  my  dear  Lizzy  ?" 

"  I  cannot  well." 

"  You  are  too  timid.  It  is  unfair  of  him  to  impose  so 
upon  you,  and  get  your  good  name  into  danger  by  his 
smuggling  tricks.  Promise  me  that  the  next  time  he 
wants  to  leave  his  tubs  here  you  will  let  me  roll  them  into 
the  street  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  would  not  venture  to  offend 
the  neighbors  so  much  as  that,"  said  she,  "or  do  anything 
that  would  be  so  likely  to  put  poor  Owlett  into  the  hands 
of  the  exciseman." 

Stockdale  sighed,  and  said  that  he  thought  hers  a  mis 
taken  generosity  when  it  extended  to  assisting  those  who 
cheated  the  King  of  his  dues.  "At  any  rate,  you  will  let 
me  make  him  keep  his  distance  as  your  lover,  and  tell  him 
flatly  that  you  are  not  for  him  ?" 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  167 

"Please  not,  at  present,"  she  said.  "I  don't  wish  to 
offend  my  old  neighbors.  It  is  not  only  Owlett  who  is 
concerned." 

"  This  is  too  bad,"  said  Stockdale,  impatiently. 

"  On  my  honor,  I  won't  encourage  him  as  my  lover," 
Lizzy  answered,  earnestly.  "A  reasonable  man  will  be 
satisfied  with  that." 

"Well,  so  I  am,"  said  Stockdale,  his  countenance  clear- 


Ill. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  GREAT-COAT. 

STOCKDALE  now  began  to  notice  more  particularly  a 
feature  in  the  life  of  his  fair  landlady  which  he  had 
casually  observed,  but  scarcely  ever  thought  of  before. 
It  was  that  she  was  markedly  irregular  in  her  hours  of 
rising.  For  a  week  or  two  she  would  be  tolerably  punct 
ual,  reaching  the  ground-floor  within  a  few  minutes  of 
half- past  seven ;  then  suddenly  she  would  not  be  visible 
till  twelve  at  noon,  perhaps  for  three  or  four  days  in  suc 
cession  ;  and  twice  he  had  certain  proof  that  she  did  not 
leave  her  room  till  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon.  The 
second  time  that  this  extreme  lateness  came  under  his 
notice  was  on  a  day  when  he  had  particularly  wished  to 
consult  with  her  about  his  future  movements ;  and  he 
concluded,  as  he  always  had  done,  that  she  had  a  cold, 
headache,  or  other  ailment,  unless  she  had  kept  herself 
invisible  to  avoid  meeting  and  talking  to  him,  which  he 
could  hardly  believe.  The  former  supposition  was  dis 
proved,  however,  by  her  innocently  saying,  some  days 
later,  when  they  were  speaking  on  a  question  of  health, 
that  she  had  never  had  a  moment's  heaviness,  headache, 
or  illness  of  any  kind  since  the  previous  January  twelve 
month. 


168  WESSEX  TALES. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  he.  "I  thought  quite 
otherwise." 

"  What,  do  I  look  sickly  ?"  she  asked,  turning  up  her 
face  to  show  the  impossibility  of  his  gazing  on  it  and 
holding  such  a  belief  for  a  moment. 

"Not  at  all;  I  merely  thought  so  from  your  being 
sometimes  obliged  to  keep  your  room  through  the  best 
part  of  the  day." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  it  means  nothing,"  she  murmured, 
with  a  look  which  some  might  have  called  cold,  and 
which  was  the  look  that  he  worst  liked  to  see  upon  her. 
"  It  is  pure  sleepiness,  Mr.  Stockdale." 

"Never!" 

"  It  is,  I  tell  you.  When  I  stay  in  my  room  till  half- 
past  three  in  the  afternoon,  you  may  always  be  sure  that  I 
slept  soundly  till  three,  or  I  shouldn't  have  stayed  there." 

"  It  is  dreadful,"  said  Stockdale,  thinking  of  the  disas 
trous  effects  of  such  indulgence  upon  the  household  of  a 
minister,  should  it  become  a  habit  of  every-day  occur 
rence. 

"But  then,"  she  said,  divining  his  good  and  prescient 
thoughts, "  it  happens  only  when  I  stay  awake  all  night. 
I  don't  go  to  sleep  till  five  or  six  in  the  morning  some 
times." 

"  Ah,  that's  another  matter,"  said  Stockdale.  "  Sleep 
lessness  to  such  an  alarming  extent  is  real  illness.  Have 
you  spoken  to  a  doctor  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  there  is  no  need  for  doing  that ;  it  is  all  natu 
ral  to  me."  And  she  went  away  without  further  remark. 

Stockdale  might  have  waited  a  long  time  to  know  the 
real  cause  of  her  sleeplessness,  had  it  not  happened  that 
one  dark  night  he  was  sitting  in  his  bedroom  jotting  down 
notes  for  a  sermon,  which  unintentionally  occupied  him 
for  a  considerable  time  after  the  other  members  of  the 
household  had  retired.  He  did  not  get  to  bed  till  one 
o'clock.  Before  he  had  fallen  asleep  he  heard  a  knocking 
at  the  door,  first  rather  timidly  performed,  and  then  loud 
er.  Nobody  answered  it,  and  the  person  knocked  again, 


THE   DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  169 

As  the  house  still  remained  undisturbed,  Stockdale  got 
out  of  bed,  went  to  his  window,  which  overlooked  the 
door,  and  opening  it,  asked  who  was  there. 

A  young  woman's  voice  replied  that  Susan  Wallis  was 
there,  and  that  she  had  come  to  ask  if  Mrs.  Newberry 
could  give  her  some  mustard  to  make  a  plaster  with,  as 
her  father  was  taken  very  ill  on  the  chest. 

The  minister,  having  neither  bell  nor  servant,  was  com 
pelled  to  act  in  person.  "I  will  call  Mrs. Newberry,"  he 
said.  Partly  dressing  himself,  he  went  along  the  passage 
and  tapped  at  Lizzy's  door.  She  did  not  answer,  and, 
thinking  of  her  erratic  habits  in  the  matter  of  sleep,  he 
thumped  the  door  persistently,  when  he  discovered,  by  its 
moving  ajar  under  his  knocking,  that  it  had  only  been 
gently  pushed  to.  As  there  was  now  a  sufficient  entry 
for  the  voice,  he  knocked  no  longer,  but  said  in  firm  tones, 
"  Mrs.  Kewberry,  you  are  wanted." 

The  room  was  quite  silent;  not  a  breathing,  not  a  rus 
tle,  came  from  any  part  of  it.  Stockdale  now  seat  a  posi 
tive  shout  through  the  open  space  of  the  door:  "Mrs. 
Newberry !"  still  no  answer,  or  movement  of  any  kind 
within.  Then  he  heard  sounds  from  the  opposite  room, 
that  of  Lizzy's  mother,  as  if  she  had  been  aroused  by  his 
uproar  though  Lizzy  had  not,  and  was  dressing  herself 
hastily.  Stockdale  softly  closed  the  younger  woman's 
door  and  went  on  to  the  other,  which  was  opened  by  Mrs. 
Simpkins  before  he  could  reach  it.  She  was  in  her  ordi 
nary  clothes,  and  had  a  light  in  her  hand. 

"  What's  the  person  calling  about  ?"  she  said,  in  alarm. 

Stockdale  told  the  girl's  errand,  adding  seriously,  "  I 
cannot  wake  Mrs.  Newberry." 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  can  let  the  girl 
have  what  she  wants  as  well  as  my  daughter."  And  she 
came  out  of  the  room  and  went  down-stairs. 

Stockdale  retired  towards  his  own  apartment,  saying, 
however,  to  Mrs.  Simpkins  from  the  landing,  as  if  on  sec 
ond  thoughts, "  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
Mrs.  Newberry,  that  I  could  not  wake  her  ?" 


170  W ESSEX  TALES. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  old  lady,  hastily.     "  Nothing  at  all." 

Still  the  minister  was  not  satisfied.  "  Will  you  go  in 
and  see?"  he  said.  "I  should  be  much  more  at  ease." 

Mrs.  Simpkins  returned  up  the  staircase,  went  to  her 
daughter's  room,  and  came  out  again  almost  instantly. 
"  There  is  nothing  at  all  the  matter  with  Lizzy,"  she  said, 
and  descended  again  to  attend  to  the  applicant,  who,  hav 
ing  seen  the  light,  had  remained  quiet  during  this  in 
terval. 

Stockdale  went  into  his  room  and  lay  down  as  before. 
He  heard  Lizzy's  mother  open  the  front  door,  admit  the 
girl,  and  then  the  murmured  discourse  of  both  as  they 
went  to  the  store-cupboard  for  the  medicament  required. 
The  girl  departed,  the  door  was  fastened,  Mrs.  Simpkins 
came  up-stairs,  and  the  house  was  again  in  silence.  Still 
the  minister  did  not  fall  asleep.  He  could  riot  get  rid 
of  a  singular  suspicion,  which  was  all  the  more  harassing, 
in  being,  if  true,  the  most  unaccountable  thing  within  his 
experience.  That  Lizzy  Ne wherry  was  in  her  bedroom 
when  he  made  such  a  clamor  at  her  door  he  could  not 
possibly  convince  himself,  notwithstanding  that  he  had 
heard  her  come  up-stairs  at  the  usual  time,  go  into  her 
chamber,  and  shut  herself  up  in  the  usual  way.  Yet  all 
reason  was  so  much  against  her  being  elsewhere  that  he 
was  constrained  to  go  back  again  to  the  unlikely  theory 
of  a  heavy  sleep,  though  he  had  heard  neither  breath  nor 
movement  during  a  shouting  and  knocking  loud  enough 
to  rouse  the  Seven  Sleepers. 

Before  coming  to  any  positive  conclusion  he  fell  asleep 
himself,  and  did  not  awake  till  day.  He  saw  nothing  of 
Mrs.  Newberry  in  the  morning,  before  he  went  out  to 
meet  the  rising  sun,  as  he  liked  to  do  when  the  weather 
was  fine;  but  as  this  was  by  no  means  unusual,  he  took 
no  notice  of  it.  At  breakfast-time  he  knew  that  she  was 
not  far  off  by  hearing  her  in  the  kitchen,  and  though  he 
saw  nothing  of  her  person,  that  back  apartment  being  rig 
orously  closed  against  his  eyes,  she  seemed  to  be  talking, 
ordering,  and  bustling  about  among  the  pots  and  skim- 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  171 

mers  in  so  ordinary  a  manner  that  there  was  no  reason 
for  his  wasting  more  time  in  fruitless  surmise. 

The  minister  suffered  from  these  distractions,  and  his 
extemporized  sermons  were  not  improved  thereby.  Al 
ready  he  often  said  Romans  for  Corinthians  in  the  pulpit, 
and  gave  out  hymns  in  strange  cramped  metres  that  hith 
erto  had  always  been  skipped  because  the  congregation 
could  not  raise  a  tune  to  tit  them.  He  fully  resolved  that 
as  soon  as  his  few  weeks  of  stay  approached  their  end 
he  would  cut  the  matter  short,  and  commit  himself  by 
proposing  a  definite  engagement,  repenting  at  leisure  if 
necessary. 

With  this  end  in  view,  he  suggested  to  her  on  the  even 
ing  after  her  mysterious  sleep  that  they  should  take  a 
walk  together  just  before  dark,  the  latter  part  of  the 
proposition  being  introduced  that  they  might  return  home 
unseen.  She  consented  to  go ;  and  away  they  went  over 
a  stile,  to  a  shrouded  foot-path  suited  for  the  occasion. 
But,  iu  spite  of  attempts  on  both  sides,  they  were  un 
able  to  infuse  much  spirit  into  the  ramble.  She  looked 
rather  paler  than  usual,  and  sometimes  turned  her  head 
away. 

"  Lizzy,"  said  Stockdale,  reproachfully,  when  they  had 
walked  in  silence  a  long  distance. 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  You  yawned — much  my  company  is  to  you !"  He 
put  it  in  that  way,  but  he  was  really  wondering  whether 
her  yawn  could  possibly  have  more  to  do  with  physical 
weariness  from  the  night  before  than  mental  weariness  of 
that  present  moment.  Lizzy  apologized,  and  owned  that 
she  was  rather  tired,  which  gave  him  an  opening  for  a, 
direct  question  on  the  point;  but  his  modesty  would  not 
allow  him  to  put  it  to  her,  and  he  uncomfortably  resolved 
to  wait. 

The  month  of  February  passed  with  alternations  of  mud 
and  frost,  rain  and  sleet,  east  winds  and  north-westerly 
gales.  The  hollow  places  in  the  ploughed  fields  showed 
themselves  as  pools  of  water,  which  had  settled  there  from 


172  WESSEX  TALES. 

the  higher  levels,  and  had  not  yet  found  time  to  soak 
away.  The  birds  began  to  get  lively,  and  a  single  thrush 
came  just  before  sunset  each  evening,  and  sang  hopefully 
on  the  large  elm-tree  which  stood  nearest  to  Mrs.  New- 
berry's  house.  Cold  blasts  and  brittle  earth  had  given 
place  to  an  oozing  dampness  more  unpleasant  in  itself 
than  frost ;  but  it  suggested  coming  spring,  and  its  un 
pleasantness  was  of  a  bearable  kind. 

Stockdale  had  been  going  to  bring  about  a  practical  un 
derstanding  with  Lizzy  at  least  half  a  dozen  times ;  but 
what  with  the  mystery  of  her  apparent  absence  on  the 
night  of  the  neighbor's  call,  and  her  curious  way  of  lying 
in  bed  at  unaccountable  times,  he  felt  a  check  within  him 
whenever  he  wanted  to  speak  out.  Thus  they  still  lived 
on  as  indefinitely  affianced  lovers,  each  of  whom  hardly 
acknowledged  the  other's  claim  to  the  name  of  chosen 
one.  Stockdale  persuaded  himself  that  his  hesitation  was 
owing  to  the  postponement  of  the  ordained  minister's  ar 
rival,  and  the  consequent  delay  in  his  own  departure, 
which  did  away  with  all  necessity  for  haste  in  his  court 
ship  ;  but  perhaps  it  was  only  that  his  discretion  was  re 
asserting  itself,  and  telling  him  that  he  had  better  get 
clearer  ideas  of  Lizzy  before  arranging  for  the  grand  con 
tract  of  his  life  with  her.  She,  on  her  part,  always  seemed 
ready  to  be  urged  further  on  that  question  than  he  had 
hitherto  attempted  to  go ;  but  she  was  none  the  less  inde 
pendent,  and  to  a  degree  which  would  have  kept  from 
flagging  the  passion  of  a  far  more  mutable  man. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  of  March  he  went  casually 
into  his  bedroom  about  dusk,  and  noticed  lying  on  a  chair 
a  great-coat,  hat,  and  breeches.  Having  no  recollection  of 
leaving  any  clothes  of  his  own  in  that  spot,  he  went  and 
examined  them  as  well  as  he  could  in  the  twilight,  and 
found  that  they  did  not  belong  to  him.  He  paused  for  a 
moment  to  consider  how  they  might  have  got  there.  He 
was  the  only  man  living  in  the  house ;  and  yet  these  were 
not  his  garments,  unless  he  had  made  a  mistake.  No, 
they  were  not  his.  He  called  up  Martha  Sarah. 


THE  DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  173 

"  How  did  these  things  come  in  my  room  ?"  he  said, 
flinging  the  objectionable  articles  to  the  floor. 

Martha  said  that  Mrs.  Newberry  had  given  them  to  her 
to  brush,  and  that  she  had  brought  them  up  there  think 
ing  they  must  be  Mr.  Stockdale's,  as  there  was  no  other 
gentleman  a-lodging  there. 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  said  Stockdale.  "  No\v  take  them 
down  to  your  mis'ess,  and  say  they  are  some  clothes  I 
have  found  here  and  know  nothing  about." 

As  the  door  was  left  open  he  heard  the  conversation 
down-stairs.  "  How  stupid !"  said  Mrs.  Newberry,  in  a 
tone  of  confusion.  "  Why,  Marther  Barer,  I  did  not  tell 
you  to  take  'em  to  Mr.  Stockdale's  room !" 

"  I  thought  they  must  be  his  as  they  was  so  muddy," 
said  Martha,  humbly. 

"You  should  have  left  'em  on  the  clothes-horse,"  said 
the  young  mistress,  severely ;  and  she  came  up-stairs  with 
the  garments  on  her  arm,  quickly  passed  Stockdale's  room, 
and  threw  them  forcibly  into  a  closet  at  the  end  of  a 
passage.  With  this  the  incident  ended,  and  the  house 
was  silent  again. 

There  would  have  been  nothing  remarkable  in  finding 
such  clothes  in  a  widow's  house  had  they  been  clean,  or 
moth-eaten,  or  creased,  or  mouldy  from  long  lying  by ; 
but  that  they  should  be  splashed  with  recent  mud  both 
ered  Stockdale  a  good  deal.  When  a  young  pastor  is  in 
the  aspen  stage  of  attachment,  and  open  to  agitation  at 
the  merest  trifles,  a  really  substantial  incongruity  of  this 
complexion  is  a  disturbing  thing.  However,  nothing  fur 
ther  occurred  at  that  time ;  but  he  became  watchful  and 
given  to  conjecture,  and  was  unable  to  forget  the  circum 
stance. 

One  morning,  on  looking  from  his  window,  he  saw  Mrs. 
Newberry  herself  brushing  the  tails  of  a  long  drab  great 
coat,  which,  if  he  mistook  not,  was  the  very  same  garment 
as  the  one  that  had  adorned  the  chair  of  his  room.  It 
was  densely  splashed  up  to  the  hollow  of  the  back  with 
neighboring  Nether-Mynton  mud,  to  judge  by  its  color, 


174  WESSEX  TALES. 

the  spots  being  distinctly  visible  to  him  in  the  sunlight. 
The  previous  day  or  two  having  been  wet,  the  inference 
was  irresistible  that  the  wearer  had  quite  recently  been 
walking  some  considerable  distance  about  the  lanes  and 
fields.  Stockdale  opened  the  window  and  looked  out,  and 
Mrs.  Newberry  turned  her  head.  Her  face  became  slowly 
red ;  she  never  had  looked  prettier,  or  more  incompre 
hensible.  He  waved  his  hand  affectionately,  and  said 
good-morning;  she  answered  with  embarrassment,  having 
ceased  her  occupation  on  the  instant  that  she  saw  him, 
and  rolled  up  the  coat  half  cleaned. 

Stockdale  shut  the  window.  Some  simple  explanation 
of  her  proceeding  was  doubtless  within  the  bounds  of  pos 
sibility  ;  but  he  himself  could  not  think  of  one ;  and  he 
•wished  that  she  had  placed  the  matter  beyond  conjecture 
by  voluntarily  saying  something  about  it  there  and  then. 

But,  though  Lizzy  had  not  offered  an  explanation  at  the 
moment,  the  subject  was  brought  forward  by  her  at  the 
next  time  of  their  meeting.  She  was  chatting  to  him  con 
cerning  some  other  event,  and  remarked  that  it  happened 
about  the  time  when  she  was  dusting  some  old  clothes  that 
had  belonged  to  her  poor  husband. 

"  You  keep  them  clean  out  of  respect  to  his  memory  3" 
said  Stockdale,  tentatively. 

"I  air  and  dust  them  sometimes,"  she  said,  with  the 
most  charming  innocence  in  the  world. 

"  Do  dead  men  come  out  of  their  graves  and  walk  in 
mud?"  murmured  the  minister,  in  a  cold  sweat  at  the  de 
ception  that  she  was  practising. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Lizzy. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  said  he,  mournfully.  "  Mere  words 
— a  phrase  that  will  do  for  my  sermon  next  Sunday."  It 
was  too  plain  that  Lizzy  was  unaware  that  he  had  seen 
actual  pedestrian  splashes  upon  the  skirts  of  the  telltale 
overcoat,  and  that  she  imagined  him  to  believe  it  had 
come  direct  from  some  chest  or  drawer. 

The  aspect  of  the  case  was  now  considerably  darker. 
Stockdale  was  so  much  depressed  by  it  that  he  did  not 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  175 

challenge  her  explanation,  or  threaten  to  go  off  as  a  mis 
sionary  to  benighted  islanders,  or  reproach  her  in  any  way 
whatever.  He  simply  parted  from  her  when  she  had  done 
talking,  and  lived  on  in  perplexity,  till  by  degrees  his  nat 
ural  manner  became  sad  and  constrained. 


IV. 

AT  THE  TIME   OF  THE  NEW  MOON. 

THE  following  Thursday  was  changeable,  damp,  and 
gloomy,  and  the  night  threatened  to  be  windy  and  un 
pleasant.  Stockdale  had  gone  away  to  Knollsea  in  the 
morning,  to  be  present  at  some  commemoration  service 
there,  and  on  his  return  he  was  met  by  the  attractive 
Lizzy  in  the  passage.  Whether  influenced  by  the  tide  of 
cheerfulness  which  had  attended  him  that  day,  or  by  the 
drive  through  the  open  air,  or  whether  from  a  natural  dis 
position  to  let  by-gones  alone,  he  allowed  himself  to  be 
fascinated  into  forgetfulness  of  the  great -coat  incident, 
and,  upon  the  whole,  passed  a  pleasant  evening;  not  so 
much  in  her  society  as  within  sound  of  her  voice,  as  she 
sat  talking  in  the  back  parlor  to  her  mother,  till  the  latter 
went  to  bed.  Shortly  after  this  Mrs.  Newberry  retired, 
and  then  Stockdale  prepared  to  go  up-stairs  himself.  But 
before  he  left  the  room  he  remained  standing  by  the  dy 
ing  embers  a  while,  thinking  long  of  one  thing  and  an 
other,  and  was  only  aroused  by  the  flickering  of  his  candle 
in  the  socket  as  it  suddenly  declined  and  went  out.  Know 
ing  that  there  were  a  tinder-box,  matches,  and  another 
candle  in  his  bedroom,  he  felt  his  way  up-stairs  without  a 
light.  On  reaching  his  chamber  he  laid  his  hand  on  every 
possible  ledge  and  corner  for  the  tinder-box,  but  for  a  long 
time  in  vain.  Discovering  it  at  length,  Stockdale  pro 
duced  a  spark,  and  was  kindling  the  brimstone,  when  he 
fancied  that  he  heard  a  movement  in  the  passage.  He 
blew  harder  at  the  lint,  the  match  flared  up,  and  looking 


176  WESSEX  TALES. 

by  aid  of  the  blue  light  through  the  door,  which  had  been 
standing  open  all  this  time,  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  male 
figure  vanishing  round  the  top  of  the  staircase  with  the 
evident  intention  of  escaping  unobserved.  The  person 
age  wore  the  clothes  which  Lizzy  had  been  brushing,  and 
something  in  the  outline  and  gait  suggested  to  the  minis 
ter  that  the  wearer  was  Lizzy  herself. 

But  he  was  not  sure  of  this ;  and,  greatly  excited,  Stock- 
dale  determined  to  investigate  the  mystery,  and  to  adopt 
his  own  way  for  doing  it.  He  blew  out  the  match  with 
out  lighting  the  candle,  went  into  the  passage,  and  pro 
ceeded  on  tiptoe  towards  Lizzy's  room.  A  faint  gray 
square  of  light  in  the  direction  of  the  chamber  window  as 
he  approached  told  him  that  the  door  was  open,  and  at 
once  suggested  that  the  occupant  was  gone.  He  turned 
and  brought  down  his  fist  upon  the  hand-rail  of  the  stair 
case  :  "  It  was  she,  in  her  late  husband's  coat  and  hat !" 

Somewhat  relieved  to  find  that  there  was  no  intruder 
in  the  case,  yet  none  the  less  surprised,  the  minister  crept 
down  the  stairs,  softly  put  on  his  boots,  overcoat,  and  hat, 
and  tried  the  front  door.  It  was  fastened  as  usual;  he 
went  to  the  back  door,  found  this  unlocked,  and  emerged 
into  the  garden.  The  night  was  mild  and  moonless,  and 
rain  had  lately  been  falling,  though  for  the  present  it  had 
ceased.  There  was  a  sudden  dropping  from  the  trees  and 
bushes  every  now  and  then,  as  each  passing  wind  shook 
their  boughs.  Among  these  sounds  Stockdale  heard  the 
faint  fall  of  feet  upon  the  road  outside,  and  he  guessed 
from  the  step  that  it  was  Lizzy's.  He  followed  the  sound, 
and,  helped  by  the  circumstance  of  the  wind  blowing  from 
the  direction  in  which  the  pedestrian  moved,  he  got  nearly 
close  to  her,  and  kept  there,  without  risk  of  being  over 
heard.  While  he  thus  followed  her  up  the  street  or  lane, 
as  it  might  indifferently  be  called,  there  being  more  hedge 
than  houses  on  either  side,  a  figure  came  forward  to  her 
from  one  of  the  cottage  doors.  Lizzy  stopped ;  the  min 
ister  stepped  upon  the  grass  and  stopped  also. 

"  Is  that  Mrs,  Kewberry  ?"  said  the  man  who  had  come 


THE   DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  177 

out,  whose  voice  Stockdale  recognized  as  that  of  one  of 
the  most  devout  members  of  his  congregation. 

"  It  is,"  said  Lizzy. 

"I  be  quite  ready — I've  been  here  this  quarter-hour." 

"Ah,  John,"  said  she,  "I  have  bad  news;  there  is  dan 
ger  to-night  for  our  venture." 

"And  d'ye  tell  o't!     I  dreamed  there  might  be." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  hurriedly ;  "  and  you  must  go  at  once 
round  to  where  the  chaps  are  waiting,  and  tell  them  they 
will  not  be  wanted  till  to-morrow  night  at  the  same  time. 
I  go  to  burn  the  lugger  off." 

"I  will,"  he  said,  and  instantly  went  off  through  a  gate, 
Lizzy  continuing  her  way. 

On  she  tripped  at  a  quickening  pace  till  the  lane  turned 
into  the  turnpike-road,  which  she  crossed,  and  got  into  the 
track  for  Rings  worth.  Here  she  ascended  the  hill  with 
out  the  least  hesitation,  passed  the  lonely  hamlet  of  Hoi- 
worth,  and  went  down  the  vale  on  the  other  side.  Stock- 
dale  had  never  taken  any  extensive  walks  in  this  direction, 
but  he  was  aware  that  if  she  persisted  in  her  course  much 
longer  she  would  draw  near  to  the  coast,  which  was  here 
between  two  and  three  miles  distant  from  Kether-Mynton; 
and  as  it  had  been  about  a  quarter-past  eleven  o'clock 
when  they  set  out,  her  intention  seemed  to  be  to  reach 
the  shore  about  midnight. 

Lizzy  soon  ascended  a  small  mound,  which  Stockdale  at 
the  same  time  adroitly  skirted  on  the  left;  and  a  dull 
monotonous  roar  burst  upon  his  ear.  The  hillock  was 
about  fifty  yards  from  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  and  by  day  it 
apparently  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  bay.  There 
was  light  enough  in  the  sky  to  show  her  disguised  figure 
against  it  when  she  reached  the  top,  where  she  paused,  and 
afterwards  sat  down.  Stockdale,  not  wishing  on  any  ac 
count  to  alarm  her  at  this  moment,  yet  desirous  of  being 
near  her,  sank  upon  his  hands  and  knees,  crept  a  little 
higher  up,  and  there  stayed  still. 

The  wind  was  chilly,  the  ground  damp,  and  his  position 
one  in  which  he  did  not  care  to  remain  long.  However, 


178  WESSEX  TALES. 

before  he  had  decided  to  leave  it,  the  young  man  heard 
voices  behind  him.  What  they  signified  he  did  not  know; 
but,  fearing  that  Lizzy  was  in  danger,  he  was  about  to  run 
forward  and  warn  her  that  she  might  be  seen,  when  she 
crept  to  the  shelter  of  a  little  bush  which  maintained  a 
precarious  existence  in  that  exposed  spot ;  and  her  form 
was  absorbed  in  its  dark  and  stunted  outline  as  if  she  had 
become  part  of  it.  She  had  evidently  heard  the  men  as 
well  as  he.  They  passed  near  him,  talking  in  loud  and 
careless  tones,  which  could  be  heard  above  the  uninter 
rupted  washings  of  the  sea,  and  which  suggested  that  they 
were  not  engaged  in  any  business  at  their  own  risk.  This 
proved  to  be  the  fact ;  some  of  their  words  floated  across 
to  him,  and  caused  him  to  forget  at  once  the  coldness  of 
his  situation. 

"  What's  the  vessel  ?" 

"  A  lugger,  about  fifty  tons." 

"  From  Cherbourg,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,  a  b'lieve." 

"But  it  don't  all  belong  to  Owlett?" 

"  Oh  no.  He's  only  got  a  share.  There's  another  or 
two  in  it — a  farmer  and  such-like,  but  the  names  I  don't 
know." 

The  voices  died  away,  and  the  heads  and  shoulders  of 
the  men  diminished  towards  the  cliff,  and  dropped  out  of 
sight. 

"My  darling  has  been  tempted  to  buy  a  share  by  that 
unbeliever  Owlett,"  groaned  the  minister,  his  honest  af 
fection  for  Lizzy  having  quickened  to  its  intensest  point 
during  these  moments  of  risk  to  her  person  and  name. 
"  That's  why  she's  here,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Oh,  it  will 
be  the  ruin  of  her." 

His  perturbation  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  burst 
ing  out  of  a  bright  and  increasing  light  from  the  spot 
where  Lizzy  was  in  hiding.  A  few  seconds  later,  and  be 
fore  it  had  reached  the  height  of  a  blaze,  he  heard  her 
rush  past  him  down  the  hollow  like  a  stone  from  a  sling, 
in  the  direction  of  home,  The  light  now  flared  high  and 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  179 

wide,  and  showed  its  position  clearly.  She  had  kindled  a 
bough  of  furze  and  stuck  it  into  the  bush  under  which 
she  had  been  crouching;  the  wind  fanned  the  flame,  which 
crackled  fiercely,  and  threatened  to  consume  the  bush  as 
well  as  the  bough.  Stockdale  paused  just  long  enough  to 
notice  thus  much,  and  then  followed  rapidly  the  route 
taken  by  the  young  woman.  His  intention  was  to  over 
take  her,  and  reveal  himself  as  a  friend ;  but  run  as  he 
would  he  could  see  nothing  of  her.  Thus  he  flew  across 
the  open  country  about  Hoi  worth,  twisting  his  legs  and 
ankles  in  unexpected  fissures  and  descents,  till,  on  coming 
to  the  gate  between  the  downs  and  the  road,  he  was  forced 
to  pause  to  get  breath.  There  was  no  audible  movement 
either  in  front  or  behind  him,  and  he  now  concluded  that 
she  had  not  outrun  him,  but  that,  hearing  him  at  her  heels, 
and  believing  him  one  of  the  excise  party,  she  had  hidden 
herself  somewhere  on  the  way,  and  let  him  pass  by. 

He  went  on  at  a  more  leisurely  pace  towards  the  village. 
On  reaching  the  house  he  found  his  surmise  to  be  correct, 
for  the  gate  was  on  the  latch,  and  the  door  unfastened, 
just  as  he  had  left  them.  Stockdale  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him,  and  waited  silently  in  the  passage.  In  about 
ten  minutes  he  heard  the  same  light  footstep  that  he  had 
heard  in  going  out ;  it  paused  at  the  gate,  which  opened 
and  shut  softly,  and  then  the  door-latch  was  lifted,  and 
Lizzy  came  in. 

Stockdale  went  forward  and  said  at  once,  "  Lizzy,  don't 
be  frightened.  I  have  been  waiting  up  for  you." 

She  started,  though  she  had  recognized  the  voice.  "It 
is  Mr.  Stockdale,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  becoming  angry  now  that  she  was 
safe  in-doors,  and  not  alarmed.  "And  a  nice  game  I've 
found  you  out  in  to-night.  You  are  in  man's  clothes,  and 
I  am  ashamed  of  you !" 

Lizzy  could  hardly  find  a  voice  to  answer  this  unex 
pected  reproach. 

"I  am  only  partly  in  man's  clothes,"  she  faltered, 
shrinking  back  to  the  wall.  "  It  is  only  his  great-coat  and 


180  WESSEX  TALES. 

hat  and  breeches  that  I've  got  on,  which  is  no  harm,  as  he 
was  my  own  husband ;  and  I  do  it  only  because  a  cloak 
blows  about  so,  and  you  can't  use  your  arms.  I  have  got 
my  own  dress  under  just  the  same — it  is  only  tucked  in. 
Will  you  go  away  up-stairs  and  let  me  pass?  I  didn't 
want  you  to  see  me  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

"  But  I  have  a  right  to  see  you.  How  do  you  think 
there  can  be  anything  between  us  now?"  Lizzy  was  si 
lent.  "  You  are  a  smuggler,"  he  continued,  sadly. 

"I  have  only  a  share  in  the  run,"  she  said. 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  Whatever  did  you  engage 
in  such  a  trade  as  that  for,  and  keep  it  such  a  secret  from 
me  all  this  time  ?" 

"I  don't  do  it  always.  I  do  it  only  in  winter -time 
when  'tis  new  moon." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that's  because  it  can't  be  done  any- 
wheu  else.  You  have  regularly  upset  me,  Lizzy." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  Lizzy  meekly  replied. 

"Well  now,"  said  he,  more  tenderly,  "  no  harm  is  done 
as  yet.  Won't  you  for  the  sake  of  me  give  up  this  blam- 
able  and  dangerous  practice  altogether?" 

"  I  must  do  my  best  to  save  this  run,"  said  she,  getting 
rather  husky  in  the  throat.  "I  don't  want  to  give  you 
up — you  know  that ;  but  I  don't  want  to  lose  my  venture. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  now!  Why  I  have  kept  it  so 
secret  from  you  is  that  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  angry 
if  you  knew." 

"I  should  think  so.  I  suppose  if  I  had  married  you 
without  finding  this  out  you'd  have  gone  on  with  it  just 
the  same  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  did  not  think  so  far  ahead.  I  only 
went  to-riight  to  burn  the  folks  off,  because  we  found  that 
the  excisemen  knew  where  the  tubs  were  to  be  landed." 

"It  is  a  pretty  mess  to  be  in  altogether,  is  this,"  said 
the  distracted  young  minister.  "  Well,  what  will  you  do 
now  ?" 

Lizzy  slowly  murmured  the  particulars  of  their  plan, 
the  chief  of  which  were  that  they  meant  to  try  their  luck 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  181 

at  some  other  point  of  the  shore  the  next  night;  that 
three  landing-places  were  always  agreed  upon  before  the 
run  was  attempted,  with  the  understanding  that,  if  the 
vessel  was  burned  off  from  the  first  point,  which  was 
Ringsworth,  as  it  had  been  by  her  to-night,  the  crew 
should  attempt  to  make  the  second,  which  was  Lullstead, 
on  the  second  night ;  and  if  there,  too,  danger  threatened, 
they  should  on  the  third  night  try  the  third  place,  which 
was  behind  a  headland  farther  west. 

"  Suppose  the  officers  hinder  them  landing  there  too  ?" 
he  said,  his  attention  to  this  interesting  programme  dis 
placing  for  a  moment  his  concern  at  her  share  in  it. 

"  Then  we  shaVt  try  anywhere  else  all  this  dark — that's 
what  we  call  the  time  between  moon  and  moon — and  per 
haps  they'll  string  the  tubs  to  a  stray-line,  and  sink  'em  a 
little  ways  from  shore,  and  take  the  bearings;  and  then 
when  they  have  a  chance  they'll  go  to  creep  for  'em." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Oh,  they'll  go  out  in  a  boat  and  drag  a  creeper — that's 
a  grapnel — along  the  bottom  till  it  catch  hold  of  the  stray- 
line." 

The  minister  stood  thinking;  and  there  was  no  sound 
within-doors  but  the  tick  of  the  clock  on  the  stairs,  and 
the  quick  breathing  of  Lizzy,  partly  from  her  walk  and 
partly  from  agitation,  as  she  stood  close  to  the  wall,  not 
in  such  complete  darkness  but  that  he  could  discern  against 
its  whitewashed  surface  the  great-coat  and  broad  hat  which 
covered  her. 

"  Lizzy,  all  this  is  very  wrong,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
remember  the  lesson  of  the  tribute-money — '  Render  unto 
Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's?'  Surely  you  have 
heard  that  read  times  enough  in  your  growing  up  ?" 

"  He's  dead,"  she  pouted. 

"  But  the  spirit  of  the  text  is  in  force  just  the  same." 

"  My  father  did  it,  and  so  did  my  grandfather,  and  al 
most  everybody  in  Nether-Mynton  lives  by  it;  and  life 
would  be  so  dull  if  it  wasn't  for  that,  that  I  should  not 
care  to  live  at  all." 


182  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  I  am  nothing  to  live  for,  of  course,"  he  replied,  bit 
terly.  "You  would  not  think  it  worth  while  to  give  up 
this  wild  business  and  live  for  me  alone?" 

"  I  have  never  looked  at  it  like  that." 

"  And  you  won't  promise,  and  wait  till  I  am  ready  ?" 

"I  cannot  give  you  my  word  to-night."  And,  looking 
thoughtfully  down,  she  gradually  moved  and  moved  away, 
going  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  closing  the  door  be 
tween  them.  She  remained  there  in  the  dark  till  he  was 
tired  of  waiting,  and  had  gone  up  to  his  own  chamber. 

Poor  Stockdale  was  dreadfully  depressed  all  the  next 
day  by  the  discoveries  of  the  night  before.  Lizzy  was 
unmistakably  a  fascinating  young  woman,  but  as  a  minis 
ter's  wife  she  was  hardly  to  be  contemplated.  "  If  I  had 
only  stuck  to  father's  little  grocery  business,  instead  of 
going  in  for  the  ministry,  she  would  have  suited  me  beau 
tifully!"  he  said,  sadly,  until  he  remembered  that  in  that 
case  he  would  never  have  come  from  his  distant  home  to 
Nether-Mynton,  and  never  have  known  her. 

The  estrangement  between  them  was  not  complete,  but 
it  was  sufficient  to  keep  them  out  of  each  other's  compa 
ny.  Once  during  the  day  he  met  her  in  the  garden  path, 
and  said,  turning  a  reproachful  eye  upon  her,  "  Do  you 
promise,  Lizzy  ?"  But  she  did  not  reply.  The  evening 
drew  on,  and  he  knew  well  enough  that  Lizzy  would  re 
peat  her  excursion  at  night  —  her  half-offended  manner 
had  shown  that  she  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  al 
tering  her  plans  at  present.  He  did  not  wish  to  repeat 
his  own  share  of  the  adventure ;  but,  act  as  he  would,  his 
uneasiness  on  her  account  increased  with  the  decline  of 
day.  Supposing  that  an  accident  should  befall  her,  he 
would  never  forgive  himself  for  not  being  there  to  help, 
much  as  he  disliked  the  idea  of  seeming  to  countenance 
such  unlawful  escapades/ 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  183 


V. 

HOW  THEY  WENT  TO  LULLSTEAD  AND  BACK. 

As  he  had  expected,  she  left  the  house  at  the  same  hour 
at  night,  this  time  passing  his  door  without  stealth,  as  if 
she  knew  very  well  that  he  would  be  watching,  and  were 
resolved  to  brave  his  displeasure.  He  was  quite  ready, 
opened  the  door  quickly,  and  reached  the  back  door  almost 
as  soon  as  she. 

"  Then  you  will  go,  Lizzy  ?"  he  said,  as  he  stood  on  the 
step  beside  her,  who  now  again  appeared  as  a  little  man 
with  a  face  altogether  unsuited  to  his  clothes. 

"  I  must,"  she  said,  repressed  by  his  stern  manner. 

"  Then  I  shall  go  too,"  said  he. 

"And  I  am  sure  you  will  enjoy  it!"  she  exclaimed,  in 
more  buoyant  tones,  "  Everybody  does  who  tries  it." 

"God  forbid  that  I  should,"  he  said.  "But  I  must 
look  after  you." 

They  opened  the  wicket  and  went  up  the  road  abreast 
of  each  other,  but  at  some  distance  apart,  scarcely  a  word 
passing  between  them.  The  evening  was  rather  less  fa 
vorable  to  smuggling  enterprise  than  the  last  had  been, 
the  wind  being  lower,  and  the  sky  somewhat  clear  towards 
the  north. 

"  It  is  rather  lighter,"  said  Stockdale. 

"  'Tis,  unfortunately,"  said  she.  "  But  it  is  only  from 
those  few  stars  over  there.  The  moon  was  new  to-day  at 
four  o'clock,  and  I  expected  clouds.  I  hope  we  shall  be 
able  to  do  it  this  dark,  for  when  we  have  to  sink  'em  for 
long  it  makes  the  stuff  taste  bleachy,  and  folks  don't  like 
it  so  well." 

Her  course  was  different  from  that  of  the  preceding 
night,  branching  off  to  the  left  over  Lord's  Barrow  as 
soon  as  they  had  got  out  of  the  lane  and  crossed  the 


184  WESSEX  TALES. 

highway.  By  the  time  they  reached  Chaldon  Down, 
Stockdale,  who  had  been  in  perplexed  thought  as  to  what 
he  should  say  to  her,  decided  that  he  would  not  attempt 
expostulation  now,  while  she  was  excited  by  the  advent 
ure,  but  wait  till  it  was  over,  and  endeavor  to  keep  her 
from  such  practices  in  future.  It  occurred  to  him  once 
or  twice,  as  they  rambled  on,  that  should  they  be  sur 
prised  by  the  excisemen,  his  situation  would  be  more  awk 
ward  than  hers,  for  it  would  be  difficult  to  prove  his  true 
motive  in  coming  to  the  spot ;  but  the  risk  was  a  slight 
consideration  beside  his  wish  to  be  with  her. 

They  now  arrived  at  a  ravine  which  lay  on  the  outskirts 
of  Chaldon,  a  village  two  miles  on  their  way  towards  the 
point  of  the  shore  they  sought.  Lizzy  broke  the  silence 
this  time :  "  I  have  to  wait  here  to  meet  the  carriers.  I 
don't  know  if  they  have  come  yet.  As  I  told  you,  we 
go  to  Lullstead  to-night,  and  it  is  two  miles  farther  than 
Ringsworth." 

It  turned  out  that  the  men  had  already  come ;  for  while 
she  spoke  two  or  three  dozen  heads  broke  the  line  of  the 
slope,  and  a  company  of  men  at  once  descended  from  the 
bushes  where  they  had  been  lying  in  wait.  These  carriers 
were  men  whom  Lizzy  and  other  proprietors  regularly 
employed  to  bring  the  tubs  from  the  boat  to  a  hiding- 
place  inland.  They  were  all  young  fellows  of  Nether- 
Mynton,  Chaldon,  and  the  neighborhood,  quiet  and  inof 
fensive  persons,  who  simply  engaged  to  carry  the  cargo 
for  Lizzy  and  her  cousin  Owlett,  as  they  would  have  en 
gaged  in  any  other  labor  for  which  they  were  fairly  well 
paid. 

At  a  word  from  her,  they  closed  in  together.  "You 
had  better  take  it  now,"  she  said  to  them,  and  handed  to 
each  a  packet.  It  contained  six  shillings,  their  remunera 
tion  for  the  night's  undertaking,  which  was  paid  before 
hand  without  reference  to  success  or  failure ;  but,  besides 
this,  they  had  the  privilege  of  selling  as  agents  when  the 
run  was  successfully  made.  As  soon  as  it  was  done,  she 
said  to  them,  "  The  place  is  the  old  one  at  Lullstead ;" 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  185 

the  men  till  that  moment  not  having  been  told  whither 
they  were  bound,  for  obvious  reasons.  "  Owlett  will  meet 
you  there,"  added  Lizzy.  "  I  shall  follow  behind,  to  see 
that  we  are  not  watched." 

The  carriers  went  on,  and  Stockdale  and  Mrs.  Newberry 
followed  at  the  distance  of  a  stone's-throw.  "  What  do 
these  men  do  by  day  ?"  he  said. 

"Twelve  or  fourteen  of  them  are  laboring  men.  Some 
are  brickmakers,  some  carpenters,  some  masons,  some 
thatchers.  They  are  all  known  to  me  very  well.  Nine 
of  'em  are  of  your  own  congregation." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Stockdale. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  can't.  I  only  told  you.  The  others 
are  more  church-inclined,  because  they  supply  the  pa'son 
with  all  the  spirits  he  requires,  and  they  don't  wish  to 
show  unfriendliness  to  a  customer." 

"How  do  you  choose  them?"  said  Stockdale. 

"  We  choose  'em  for  their  closeness,  and  because  they 
are  strong  and  sure-footed,  and  able  to  carry  a  heavy  load 
a  long  way  without  being  tired." 

Stockdale  sighed  as  she  enumerated  each  particular,  for 
it  proved  how  far  involved  in  the  business  a  woman  must 
be  who  was  so  well  acquainted  with  its  conditions  and 
needs.  And  yet  he  felt  more  tenderly  towards  her  at 
this  moment  than  he  had  felt  all  the  foregoing  day. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  her  experienced  manner  and  bold 
indifference  stirred  his  admiration  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Take  my  arm,  Lizzy,"  he  murmured. 

"I  don't  want  it,"  she  said.  "Besides,  we  may  never 
be  to  each  other  again  what  we  once  have  been." 

"  That  depends  upon  you,"  said  he,  and  they  went  on 
again  as  before. 

The  hired  carriers  paced  along  over  Chaldon  Down 
with  as  little  hesitation  as  if  it  had  been  day,  avoiding 
the  cart-way,  and  leaving  the  village  of  East  Chaldon  on 
the  left,  so  as  to  reach  the  crest  of  the  hill  at  a  lonely, 
trackless  place  not  far  from  the  ancient  earthwork  called 
Konnd  Pound.  An  hour's  brisk  walking  brought  them 


186  \VESSEX  TALES. 

within  sound  of  the  sea,  not  many  hundred  yards  from 
Lullstead  Cove.  Here  they  paused,  and  Lizzy  and  Stock- 
dale  came  up  with  them,  when  they  went  on  together  to 
the  verge  of  the  cliff.  One  of  the  men  now  produced  an 
iron  bar,  which  he  drove  firmly  into  the  soil  a  yard  from 
the  edge,  and  attached  to  it  a  rope  that  he  had  uncoiled 
from  his  body.  They  all  began  to  descend,  partly  step 
ping,  partly  sliding  down  the  incline,  as  the  rope  slipped 
through  their  hands. 

"You  will  not  go  to  the  bottom,  Lizzy  ?"  said  Stockdale, 
anxiously. 

"No;  I  stay  here  to  watch,"  she  said.  "Owlett  is 
down  there." 

The  men  remained  quite  silent  when  they  reached  the 
shore ;  and  the  next  thing  audible  to  the  two  at  the  top 
was  the  dip  of  heavy  oars,  and  the  dashing  of  waves 
against  a  boat's  bow.  In  a  moment  the  keel  gently 
touched  the  shingle,  and  Stockdale  heard  the  footsteps  of 
the  thirty-six  carriers  running  forward  over  the  pebbles 
towards  the  point  of  landing. 

There  was  a  sousing  in  the  water  as  of  a  brood  of  ducks 
plunging  in,  showing  that  the  men  had  not  been  particu 
lar  about  keeping  their  legs,  or  even  their  waists,  dry  from 
the  brine;  but  it  was  impossible  to  see  what  they  were 
doing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  shingle  was  trampled 
again.  The  iron  bar  sustaining  the  rope,  on  which  Stock- 
dale's  hand  rested,  began  to  swerve  a  little,  and  the  carri 
ers  one  by  one  appeared  climbing  up  the  sloping  cliff, 
dripping  audibly  as  they  came,  and  sustaining  themselves 
by  the  guide-rope.  Each  man  on  reaching  the  top  was 
seen  to  be  carrying  a  pair  of  tubs,  one  on  his  back  and 
one  on  his  chest,  the  two  being  slung  together  by  cords 
passing  round  the  chine  hoops,  and  resting  on  the  carrier's 
shoulders.  Some  of  the  stronger  men  carried  three  by 
putting  an  extra  one  on  the  top  behind,  but  the  customary 
load  was  a  pair,  these  being  quite  weighty  enough  to  give 
their  bearer  the  sensation  of  having  chest  and  backbone 
in  contact  after  a  walk  of  four  or  five  miles. 


THE   DISTRACTED   l»KEACttEtt.  1ST 

"  Where  is  Owlett?"  said  Lizzy  to  one  of  them. 

"He  will  not  come  up  this  way,"  said  the  carrier. 
"  He's  to  bide  on  shore  till  we  be  safe  off."  Then,  with 
out  waiting  for  the  rest,  the  foremost  men  plunged  across 
the  down  ;  and  when  the  last  had  ascended,  Lizzy  pulled 
up  the  rope,  wound  it  round  her  arm,  wriggled  the  bar 
from  the  sod,  and  turned  to  follow  the  carriers. 

"  You  are  very  anxious  about  Owlett's  safety,"  said  the 
minister. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  man  !"  said  Lizzy.  "  Why, 
isn't  he  my  cousin  ?" 

"  Yes.  Well,  it  is  a  bad  night's  work,"  said  Stockdale, 
heavily.  "  But  I'll  carry  the  bar  and  rope  for  you." 

"  Thank  God,  the  tubs  have  got  so  far  all  right,"  said 
she. 

Stockdale  shook  his  head,  and  taking  the  bar,  walked 
by  her  side  towards  the  down,  and  the  moan  of  the  sea 
was  heard  no  more. 

"  Is  this  what  you  meant  the  other  day  when  you  spoke 
of  having  business  with  Owlett?"  the  young  man  asked. 

"  This  is  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  never  see  him  on  any 
other  matter." 

"  A  partnership  of  that  kind  with  a  young  man  is  very 
odd." 

"  It  was  begun  by  my  father  and  his,  who  were  brother- 
laws." 

Her  companion  could  riot  blind  himself  to  the  fact  that 
where  tastes  and  pursuits  were  so  akin  as  Lizzy's  and 
Owlett's,  and  where  risks  were  shared,  as  with  them,  in 
every  undertaking,  there  would  be  a  peculiar  appropriate 
ness  in  her  answering  Owlett's  standing  question  on  mat 
rimony  in  the  affirmative.  This  did  not  soothe  Stockdale.. 
its  tendency  being  rather  to  stimulate  in  him  an  effort  to. 
make  the  pair  as  inappropriate  as  possible,  and  win  her 
away  from  this  nocturnal  crew  to  correctness  of  conduct 
and  a  minister's  parlor  in  some  far-removed  inland  county. 

They  had  been  walking  near  enough  to  the  file  of  car 
riers  for  Stockdale  to  perceive  that,  when  they  got  into 


188  WESSEX  TALES. 

the  road  to  the  village,  they  split  up  into  two  companies 
of  unequal  size,  each  of  which  made  off  in  a  direction  of 
its  own.  One  company,  the  smaller  of  the  two,  went 
towards  the  church,  and  by  the  time  that  Lizzy  and  Stock- 
dale  reached  their  own  house  these  men  had  scaled  the 
church-yard  wall,  and  were  proceeding  noiselessly  over 
the  grass  within. 

"I  see  that  Owlett  has  arranged  for  one  batch  to  be 
put  in  the  church  again,"  observed  Lizzy.  "Do  you  re 
member  my  taking  you  there  the  first  night  you  came  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Stockdale.  "  No  wonder  you 
had  permission  to  broach  the  tubs — they  were  his,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"  No,  they  were  not — they  were  mine ;  I  had  permis 
sion  from  myself.  The  day  after  that  they  went  several 
miles  inland  in  a  wagon-load  of  manure,  and  sold  very 
well." 

At  this  moment  the  group  of  men  who  had  made  off  to 
the  left  some  time  before  began  leaping  one  by  one  from 
the  hedge  opposite  Lizzy's  house,  and  the  first  man,  who 
had  no  tubs  upon  his  shoulders,  came  forward. 

"Mrs.  Newberry,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  hastily. 

"  Yes,  Jim,"  said  she.     "  What's  the  matter  ?" 

"I  find  that  we  can't  put  any  in  Badger's  Clump  to 
night,  Lizzy,"  said  Owlett.  "  The  place  is  watched.  We 
must  sling  the  apple-tree  in  the  orchet  if  there's  time. 
We  can't  put  any  more  under  the  church  lumber  than  I 
have  sent  on  there,  and  my  mixen  hev  already  more  in 
en  than  is  safe." 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "  Be  quick  about  it — that's  all. 
What  can  I  do?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  please.  Ah,  it  is  the  minister ! — you 
two  that  can't  do  anything  had  better  get  in-doors  and  not 
be  seed." 

While  Owlett  thus  conversed,  in  a  tone  so  full  of  con 
traband  anxiety  and  so  free  from  lover's  jealousy,  the 
men  who  followed  him  had  been  descending  one  by  one 
from  the  hedge;  and  it  unfortunately  happened  that 


THE  DISTKACTED   PREACHER.  189 

when  the  hindmost  took  his  leap,  the  cord  which  sustained 
his  tubs  slipped ;  the  result  was  that  both  the  kegs  fell 
into  the  road,  one  of  them  being  stove  in  by  the  blow. 

"  'Od  drown  it  all !"  said  Owlett,  rushing  back. 

"  It  is  worth  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Stockdale. 

"  Oh  no — about  two  guineas  and  half  to  us  now,"  said 
Lizzy,  excitedly.  "  It  isn't  that — it  is  the  smell !  It  is  so 
blazing  strong  before  it  has  been  lowered  by  water  that 
it  smells  dreadfully  when  spilled  in  the  road  like  that ! 
I  do  hope  Latimer  won't  pass  by  till  it  is  gone  off." 

Owlett  and  one  or  two  others  picked  up  the  burst  tub 
and  began  to  scrape  and  trample  over  the  spot,  to  dis 
perse  the  liquor  as  much  as  possible;  and  then  they  all 
entered  the  gate  of  Owlett's  orchard,  which  adjoined 
Lizzy's  garden  on  the  right.  Stockdale  did  not  care  to 
follow  them,  for  several  on  recognizing  him  had  looked 
wonderingly  at  his  presence,  though  they  said  nothing. 
Lizzy  left  his  side  and  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
looking  over  the  hedge  into  the  orchard,  where  the  men 
could  be  dimly  seen  bustling  about,  and  apparently  hid 
ing  the  tubs.  All  was  done  noiselessly,  and  without  a 
light ;  and  when  it  was  over  they  dispersed  in  different 
directions,  those  who  had  taken  their  cargoes  to  the 
church  having  already  gone  off  to  their  homes. 

Lizzy  returned  to  the  garden  gate,  over  which  Stock- 
dale  was  still  abstractedly  leaning.  "  It  is  all  finished  ; 
I  am  going  in-doors  now,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  will  leave 
the  door  ajar  for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  you  needn't,"  said  Stockdale ;  "  I  am  coming 
too." 

But  before  either  of  them  had  moved,  the  faint  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs  broke  upon  the  ear,  and  it  seemed  to 
come  from  the  point  where  the  track  across  the  down 
joined  the  hard  road. 

"  They  are  just  too  late  !"  cried  Lizzy,  exultingly. 

"  Who  ?"  said  Stockdale. 

"Latimer,  the  riding-officer,  and  some  assistant  of  his. 
We  had  better  go  in-doors." 


190  WESSEX  TALES. 

They  entered  the  house,  and  Lizzy  bolted  the  door. 
"Please  don't  get  a  light,  Mr.  Stockdale,"  she  said. 

"  Of  course  I  will  not,"  said  he. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  on  the  side  of  the  King,"  said 
Lizzy,  with  faintest  sarcasm. 

"  I  am,"  said  Stockdale.  "  But,  Lizzy  Newberry,  I  love 
you,  and  you  know  it  perfectly  well ;  and  you  ought  to 
know,  if  you  do  not,  what  I  have  suffered  in  my  con 
science  on  your  account  these  last  few  days !" 

"  I  guess  very  well,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Yet  I  don't 
see  why.  Ah,  you  are  better  than  I !" 

The  trotting  of  the  horses  seemed  to  have  again  died 
away,  and  the  pair  of  listeners  touched  each  other's  fingers 
in  the  cold  "good -night"  of  those  whom  something 
seriously  divided.  They  were  on  the  landing,  but  before 
they  had  taken  three  steps  apart  the  tramp  of  the  horse 
men  suddenly  revived,  almost  close  to  the  house.  Lizzy 
turned  to  the  staircase  window,  opened  the  casement 
about  an  inch,  and  put  her  face  close  to  the  aperture. 
" Yes,  one  of  'em  is  Latimer,"  she  whispered.  "He  al 
ways  rides  a  white  horse.  One  would  think  it  was  the 
last  color  for  a  man  in  that  line." 

Stockdale  looked,  and  saw  the  white  shape  of  the  ani 
mal  as  it  passed  by ;  but  before  the  riders  had  gone  an 
other  ten  yards  Latimer  reined  in  his  horse,  and  said 
something  to  his  companion  which  neither  Stockdale  nor 
Lizzy  could  hear.  Its  drift  was,  however,  soon  made  evi 
dent,  for  the  other  man  stopped  also;  and  sharply  turn 
ing  the  horses'  heads  they  cautiously  retraced  their  steps. 
When  they  were  again  opposite  Mrs.  dewberry's  garden, 
Latimer  dismounted,  and  the  man  on  the  dark  horse  did 
the  same. 

Lizzy  and  Stockdale,  intently  listening  and  observing 
the  proceedings,  naturally  put  their  heads  as  close  as  pos 
sible  to  the  slit  formed  by  the  slightly  opened  casement; 
and  thus  it  occurred  that  at  last  their  cheeks  came  posi 
tively  into  contact.  They  went  on  listening,  as  if  they 
did  not  know  of  the  singular  circumstance  which  had 


THE    DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  191 

happened  to  their  faces,  and  the  pressure  of  eacli  to  each 
rather  increased  than  lessened  with  the  lapse  of  time. 

They  could  hear  the  excisemen  sniffing  the  air  like 
hounds  as  they  paced  slowly  along.  When  they  reached 
the  spot  where  the  tub  had  burst,  both  stopped  on  the  in 
stant. 

"  Ay,  ay,  'tis  quite  strong  here,"  said  the  second  officer. 
"Shall  we  knock  at  the  door?" 

"Well,  no,"  said  Latimer.  "Maybe  this  is  only  a  trick 
to  put  us  off  the  scent.  They  wouldn't  kick  up  this  stink 
anywhere  near  their  hiding-place.  I  have  known  such 
things  before." 

"Anyhow,  the  things,  or  some  of  'em,  must  have  been 
brought  this  way,"  said  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  said  Latimer,  musingly.  "  Unless  'tis  all  done 
to  tole  us  the  wrong  way.  I  have  a  mind  that  we  go  home 
for  to-night  without  saying  a  word,  and  come  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning  with  more  hands.  I  know  they 
have  storages  about  here,  but  we  can  do  nothing  by  this 
owl's  light.  We  will  look  round  the  parish  and  see  if 
everybody  is  in  bed,  John ;  and  if  all  is  quiet,  we  will  do 
as  I  say." 

They  went  on,  and  the  two  inside  the  window  could 
hear  them  passing  leisurely  through  the  whole  village,  the 
street  of  which  curved  round  at  the  bottom  and  entered 
the  turnpike-road  at  another  junction.  This  way  the  ex 
cisemen  followed,  and  the  amble  of  their  horses  died  quite 
away. 

"  What  will  you  do?"  said  Stockdale,  withdrawing  from 
his  position. 

She  knew  that  he  alluded  to  the  coming  search  by  the 
officers,  to  divert  her  attention  from  their  own  tender  in 
cident  by  the  casement,  which  he  wished  to  be  passed 
over  as  a  thing  rather  dreamed  of  than  done.  "Oh,  noth 
ing,"  she  replied,  with  as  much  coolness  as  she  could  com 
mand  under  her  disappointment  at  his  manner.  "We 
often  have  such  storms  as  this.  You  would  not  be  fright 
ened  if  you  knew  what  fools  they  are.  Fancy  riding  o' 


192  WESSEX  TALES. 

horseback  through  the  place ;  of  course  they  will  hear  and 
see  nobody  while  they  make  that  noise ;  but  they  are  al 
ways  afraid  to  get  off,  in  case  some  of  our  fellows  should 
burst  out  upon  'em,  and  tie  them  up  to  the  gate-post,  as 
they  have  done  before  now.  Good-night,  Mr.  Stockdale." 
She  closed  the  window  and  went  to  her  room,  where  a 
tear  fell  from  her  eyes ;  and  that  not  because  of  the  alert 
ness  of  the  riding-officers. 


VI. 

THE  GREAT  SEARCH  AT  NETHER-MYNTON. 

STOCKDALE  was  so  excited  by  the  events  of  the  evening, 
and  the  dilemma  that  he  was  placed  in  between  conscience 
and  love,  that  he  did  not  sleep,  or  even  doze,  but  remained 
as  broadly  awake  as  at  noonday.  As  soon  as  the  gray 
light  began  to  touch  ever  so  faintly  the  whiter  objects  in 
his  bedroom,  he  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  went  down 
stairs  into  the  road. 

The  village  was  already  astir.  Several  of  the  carriers 
had  heard  the  well-known  tramp  of  Latimer's  horse  while 
they  were  undressing  in  the  dark  that  night,  and  had  al 
ready  communicated  with  one  another  and  Owlett  on  the 
subject.  The  only  doubt  seemed  to  be  about  the  safety 
of  those  tubs  which  had  been  left  under  the  church  gal 
lery  stairs,  and  after  a  short  discussion  at  the  corner  of  the 
mill,  it  was  agreed  that  these  should  be  removed  before  it 
got  lighter,  and  hidden  in  the  middle  of  a  double  hedge 
bordering  the  adjoining  field.  However,  before  anything 
could  be  carried  into  effect,  the  footsteps  of  many  men 
were  heard  coming  down  the  lane  from  the  highway. 

"D it,  here  they  be,"  said  Owlett,  who,  having  al 
ready  drawn  the  hatch  and  started  his  mill  for  the  day, 
stood  stolidly  at  the  mill  door  covered  with  flour,  as  if  the 
interest  of  his  whole  soul  was  bound  up  in  the  shaking 
walls  around  him. 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  193 

The  two  or  three  with  whom  he  had  been  talking  dis 
persed  to  their  usual  work,  and  when  the  excise  officers 
and  the  formidable  body  of  men  they  had  hired  reached 
the  village  cross,  between  the  mill  and  Mrs.  Newberry's 
house,  the  village  wore  the  natural  aspect  of  a  place  begin 
ning  its  morning  labors. 

"JSTow,"  said  Latimer  to  his  associates,  who  numbered 
thirteen  men  in  all,  "  what  I  know  is  that  the  things  are 
somewhere  in  this  here  place.  We  have  got  the  day  be 
fore  us,  and  'tis  hard  if  we  can't  light  upon  'em  and  get 
'em  to  Budmouth  Custom-house  before  night.  First  we 
will  try  the  fuel-houses,  and  then  we'll  work  our  way  into 
the  chimmers,  and  then  to  the  ricks  and  stables,  and  so 
creep  round.  You  have  nothing  but  your  noses  to  guide 
ye,  mind,  so  use  'em  to-day  if  you  never  did  in  your  lives 
before." 

Then  the  search  began.  Owlett,  during  the  early  part, 
watched  from  his  mill  window,  Lizzy  from  the  door  of  her 
house,  with  the  greatest  self-possession.  A  farmer  down 
below,  who  also  had  a  share  in  the  run,  rode  about  with 
one  eye  on  his  fields  and  the  other  on  Latimer  and  his 
myrmidons,  prepared  to  put  them  off  the  scent  if  he  should 
be  asked  a  question.  Stockdale,  who  was  no  smuggler  at 
all,  felt  more  anxiety  than  the  worst  of  them,  and  went 
about  his  studies  with  a  heavy  heart,  coming  frequently 
to  the  door  to  ask  Lizzy  some  question  or  other  on  the 
consequences  to  her  of  the  tubs  being  found. 

"  The  consequences,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  are  simply 
that  I  shall  lose  'em.  As  I  have  none  in  the  house  or 
garden,  they  can't  touch  me  personally." 

"  But  you  have  some  in  the  orchard  ?" 

"  Owlett  rents  that  of  me,  and  he  lends  it  to  others.  So 
it  will  be  hard  to  say  who  put  any  tubs  there  if  they 
should  be  found." 

There  was  never  such  a  tremendous  sniffing  known  as 

that  which  took  place  in  Nether-Mynton  parish  and  its 

vicinity  this  day.     All  was  done  methodically,  and  mostly 

on  hands  and  knees.     At  different  hours  of  the  day  they 

13 


194  WESSEX  TALES. 

had  different  plans.  From  daybreak  to  breakfast-time  the 
officers  used  their  sense  of  smell  in  a  direct  and  straight 
forward  manner  only,  pausing  nowhere  but  at  such  places 
as  the  tubs  might  be  supposed  to  be  secreted  in  at  that 
very  moment,  pending  their  removal  on  the  following 
night.  Among  the  places  tested  and  examined  were : 

Hollow  trees.  Cupboards.  Culverts. 

Potato-graves.  Clock-cases.  Hedge-rows. 

Fuel-houses.  Chimney-flues.  Fagot-ricks. 

Bedrooms.  Rain-water  butts.  Haystacks. 

Apple-lofts.  Pigsties.  Coppers  and  ovens. 

After  breakfast  they  recommenced  with  renewed  vigor, 
taking  a  new  line ;  that  is  to  say,  directing  their  attention 
to  clothes  that  might  be  supposed  to  have  come  in  contact 
with  the  tubs  in  their  removal  from  the  , shore,  such  gar 
ments  being  usually  tainted  with  the  spirits,  owing  to  its 
oozing  between  the  staves.  They  now  sniffed  at 

Smock-frocks.  Smiths'  and  shoemakers'  aprons. 

Old  shirts  and  waistcoats.  Knee-naps  and  hedging-gloves. 
Coats  and  hats.  Tarpaulins. 

Breeches  and  leggings.        Market-cloaks. 
Women's  shawls  and  gowns.  Scarecrows. 

And,  as  soon  as  the  mid-day  meal  was  over,  they  pushed 
their  search  into  places  where  the  spirits  might  have  been 
thrown  away  in  alarm  : 

Horse-ponds.       Mixens.  Sinks  in  yards. 

Stable-drains.       "Wet  ditches.      Eoad-scrapings. 
Cinder-heaps.       Cesspools.          Back-door  gutters. 

But  still  these  indefatigable  excisemen  discovered  noth 
ing  more  than  the  original  telltale  smell  in  the  road  op 
posite  Lizzy's  house,  which  even  yet  had  not  passed 
off. 

"I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  men,"  said  Latimer,  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  "we  must  begin  over  again. 
Find  them  tubs  I  will" 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  195 

The  men,  who  had  been  hired  for  the  day,  looked  at 
their  hands  and  knees,  muddy  with  creeping  on  all  fours 
so  frequently,  and  rubbed  their  noses,  as  if  they  had  had 
almost  enough  of  it;  for  the  quantity  of  bad  air  which 
had  passed  into  each  one's  nostril  had  rendered  it  nearly 
as  insensible  as  a  flue.  However,  after  a  moment's  hesi 
tation,  they  prepared  to  start  anew,  except  three,  whose 
power  of  smell  had  quite  succumbed  under  the  excessive 
wear  and  tear  of  the  day. 

By  this  time  not  a  male  villager  was  to  be  seen  in  the 
parish.  Owlett  was  not  at  his  mill,  the  farmers  were  not 
in  their  fields,  the  parson  was  not  in  his  garden,  the  smith 
had  left  his  forge,  and  the  wheelwright's  shop  was  silent. 

"  Where  the  divil  are  the  folk  gone  ?"  said  Latimer, 
waking  up  to  the  fact  of  their  absence,  and  looking  round. 
"I'll  have  'em  up  for  this!  Why  don't  they  come  and 
help  us  ?  There's  not  a  man  about  the  place  but  the 
Methodist  parson,  and  he's  an  old  woman.  I  demand  as 
sistance  in  the  King's  name  !" 

"  We  must  find  the  jineral  public  afore  we  can  demand 
that,"  said  his  lieutenant. 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  do  better  without  'em,"  said  Lati 
mer,  who  changed  his  moods  at  a  moment's  notice.  "  But 
there's  great  cause  of  suspicion  in  this  silence  and  this 
keeping  out  of  sight,  and  I'll  bear  it  in  mind.  Now  we 
will  go  across  to  Owlett's  orchard,  and  see  what  we  can 
find  there." 

Stockdale,  who  heard  this  discussion  from  the  garden 
gate,  over  which  he  had  been  leaning,  was  rather  alarmed, 
and  thought  it  a  mistake  of  the  villagers  to  keep  so  com 
pletely  out  of  the  way.  He  himself,  like  the  excisemen, 
had  been  wondering  for  the  last  half -hour  what  could 
have  become  of  them.  Some  laborers  were  of  necessity 
engaged  in  distant  fields,  but  the  master-workmen  should 
have  been  at  home ;  though  one  and  all,  after  just  show 
ing  themselves  at  their  shops,  had  apparently  gone  off  for 
the  day.  He  went  in  to  Lizzy,  who  sat  at  a  back  window 
sewing,  and  said, "  Lizzy,  where  are  the  men  ?" 


196  WES  SEX  TALES. 

Lizzy  laughed.  "Where  they  mostly  are  when  they 
are  run  so  hard  as  this."  She  cast  her  eyes  to  heaven. 
"  Up  there,"  she  said. 

Stockdale  looked  up.  "  What — on  the  top  of  the  church 
tower  ?"  he  asked,  seeing  the  direction  of  her  glance. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  expect  they  will  soon  have  to  come  down," 
said  he,  gravely.  "  I  have  been  listening  to  the  officers, 
and  they  are  going  to  search  the  orchard  over  again,  and 
then  every  nook  in  the  church." 

Lizzy  looked  alarmed  for  the  first  time.  "  Will  you  go 
and  tell  our  folk?"  she  said.  "They  ought  to  be  let 
know."  Seeing  his  conscience  struggling  within  him  like 
a  boiling  pot,  she  added,  "  No,  never  mind,  I'll  go  my 
self." 

She  went  out,  descended  the  garden,  and  climbed  over 
the  church-yard  wall  at  the  same  time  that  the  preventive- 
men  were  ascending  the  road  to  the  orchard.  Stockdale 
could  do  no  less  than  follow  her.  By  the  time  that  she 
reached  the  tower  entrance  he  was  at  her  side,  and  they 
entered  together. 

Nether-Mynton  church  tower  was,  as  in  many  villages, 
without  a  turret,  and  the  only  way  to  the  top  was  by  go 
ing  up  to  the  singers'  gallery,  and  thence  ascending  by  a 
ladder  to  a  square  trap-door  in  the  floor  of  the  bell-loft, 
above  which  a  permanent  ladder  was  fixed,  passing  through 
the  bells  to  a  hole  in  the  roof.  When  Lizzy  and  Stockdale 
reached  the  gallery  and  looked  up,  nothing  but  the  trap 
door  and  the  five  holes  for  the  bell-ropes  appeared.  The 
ladder  was  gone. 

"  There's  no  getting  up,"  said  Stockdale. 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is,"  said  she.  "  There's  an  eye  looking 
at  us  at  this  moment  through  a  knot-hole  in  that  trap 
door." 

And  as  she  spoke  the  trap  opened,  and  the  dark  line  of 
the  ladder  was  seen  descending  against  the  whitewashed 
wall.  When  it  touched  the  bottom  Lizzy  dragged  it  to 
its  place,  and  said,  "  If  you'll  go  up,  I'll  follow." 


THE  DISTKACTED   PREACHER.  197 

The  young  man  ascended,  and  presently  found  himself 
among  consecrated  bells  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  non 
conformity  having  been  in  the  Stockdale  blood  for  some 
generations.  He  eyed  them  uneasily,  and  looked  round 
for  Lizzy.  Owlett  stood  here,  holding  the  top  of  the  lad 
der.  "  What,  be  you  really  one  of  us  ?"  said  the  miller, 

"  It  seems  so,"  said  Stockdale,  sadly. 

"  He's  not,"  said  Lizzy,  who  overheard.  "  He's  neither 
for  nor  against  us.  He'll  do  us  no  harm." 

She  stepped  up  beside  them,  and  then  they  went  on  to 
the  next  stage,  which,  when  they  had  clambered  over  the 
dusty  bell-carriages,  was  of  easy  ascent,  leading  towards 
the  hole  through  which  the  pale  sky  appeared,  and  into 
the  open  air.  Owlett  remained  behind  for  a  moment  to 
pull  up  the  lower  ladder. 

"  Keep  down  your  heads,"  said  a  voice,  as  soon  as  they 
set  foot  on  the  flat. 

Stockdale  here  beheld  all  the  missing  parishioners,  lying 
on  their  stomachs  on  the  tower  roof,  except  a  few  who, 
elevated  on  their  hands  and  knees,  were  peeping  through 
the  embrasures  of  the  parapet.  Stockdale  did  the  same, 
and  saw  the  village  lying  like  a  map  below  him,  over 
which  moved  the  figures  of  the  excisemen,  each  foreshort 
ened  to  a  crab-like  object,  the  crown  of  his  hat  forming  a 
circular  disk  in  the  centre  of  him.  Some  of  the  men  had 
turned  their  heads  when  the  young  preacher's  figure  arose 
among  them. 

"  What,  Mr.  Stockdale  ?"  said  Matt  Grey,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise. 

"  I'd  as  lief  that  it  hadn't  been,"  said  Jim  Clarke.  "  If 
the  pa'son  should  see  him  a  trespassing  here  in  his  tower, 
'twould  be  none  the  better  for  we,  seeing  how  a  do  hate 
chapel  members.  He'd  never  buy  a  tub  of  us  again,  and  he's 
as  good  a  customer  as  we  have  got  this  side  o'  Warm'll." 

"  Where  is  the  pa'son  ?"  said  Lizzy. 

"  In  his  house,  to  be  sure,  that  he  may  see  nothing  of 
what's  going  on — where  all  good  folks  ought  to  be,  and 
this  young  man  likewise." 


198  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  Well,  he  has  brought  some  news,"  said  Lizzy.  "  They 
are  going  to  search  the  orchet  and  church ;  can  we  do 
anything  if  they  should  find  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  cousin  Owlett.  "That's  what  we've 
been  talking  o',  and  we  have  settled  our  line.  Well,  be 
dazed !" 

The  exclamation  was  caused  by  his  perceiving  that 
some  of  the  searchers,  having  got  into  the  orchard,  and 
begun  stooping  and  creeping  hither  and  thither,  were 
pausing  in  the  middle,  where  a  tree  smaller  than  the  rest 
was  growing,  They  drew  closer,  and  bent  lower  than 
ever  upon  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  my  tubs !"  said  Lizzy,  faintly,  as  she  peered 
through  the  parapet  at  them. 

"They  have  got  'em,  a  b'lieve,"  said  Owlett. 

The  interest  in  the  movements  of  the  officers  was  so 
keen  that  not  a  single  eye  was  looking  in  any  other  direc 
tion  ;  but  at  that  moment  a  shout  from  the  church  be 
neath  them  attracted  the  attention  of  the  smugglers,  as  it 
did  also  of  the  party  in  the  orchard,  who  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  went  towards  the  church-yard  wall.  At  the  same 
time  those  of  the  Government  men  who  had  entered  the 
church  unperceived  by  the  smugglers  cried  aloud,  "Here 
be  some  of  'em  at  last." 

The  smugglers  remained  in  a  blank  silence,  uncertain 
whether  "  some  of  'em  "  meant  tubs  or  men ;  but  again 
peeping  cautiously  over  the  edge  of  the  tower  they  learned 
that  tubs  were  the  things  descried ;  and  soon  these  fated 
articles  were  brought  one  by  one  into  the  middle  of  the 
church -yard  from  their  hiding-place  under  the  gallery 
stairs. 

"  They  are  going  to  put  'em  on  Hinton's  vault  till  they 
find  the  rest,"  said  Lizzy,  hopelessly.  The  excisemen 
had,  in  fact,  begun  to  pile  up  the  tubs  on  a  large  stone 
slab  which  was  fixed  there ;  and  when  all  were  brought 
out  from  the  tower,  two  or  three  of  the  men  were  left 
standing  by  them,  the  rest  of  the  party  again  proceeding 
to  the  orchard. 


DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  199 

The  interest  of  the  smugglers  in  the  next  manoeuvres 
of  their  enemies  became  painfully  intense.  Only  about 
thirty  tubs  had  been  secreted  in  the  lumber  of  the  tower, 
but  seventy  were  hidden  in  the  orchard,  making  up  all 
that  they  had  brought  ashore  as  yet,  the  remainder  of  the 
cargo  having  been  tied  to  a  sinker  and  dropped  overboard 
for  another  night's  operations.  The  excisemen,  having 
re-entered  the  orchard,  acted  as  if  they  were  positive  that 
here  lay  hidden  the  rest  of  the  tubs,  which  they  were  de 
termined  to  find  before  nightfall.  They  spread  them 
selves  out  round  the  field,  and  advancing  on  all  fours  as 
before,  went  anew  round  every  apple-tree  in  the  enclosure. 
The  young  tree  in  the  middle  again  led  them  to  pause, 
and  at  length  the  whole  company  gathered  there  in  a  way 
which  signified  that  a  second  chain  of  reasoning  had  led 
to  the  same  results  as  the  first. 

When  they  had  examined  the  sod  hereabouts  for  some 
minutes,  one  of  the  men  rose,  ran  to  a  disused  porch  of 
the  church  where  tools  were  kept,  and  returned  with  the 
sexton's  pickaxe  and  shovel,  with  which  they  set  to  work. 

"Are  they  really  buried  there?"  said  the  minister,  for 
the  grass  was  so  green  and  uninjured  that  it  was  difficult 
to  believe  it  had  been  disturbed.  The  smugglers  were  too 
interested  to  reply,  and  presently  they  saw,  to  their  cha 
grin,  the  officers  stand  two  on  each  side  of  the  tree ;  and, 
stooping  and  applying  their  hands  to  the  soil,  they  bodily 
lifted  the  tree  and  the  turf  around  it.  The  apple-tree 
now  showed  itself  to  be  growing  in  a  shallow  box,  with 
handles  for  lifting  at  each  of  the  four  sides.  Under  the 
site  of  the  tree  a  square  hole  was  revealed,  and  an  excise 
man  went  and  looked  down. 

"  It  is  all  up  now,"  said  Owlett,  quietly.  "  And  now  all 
of  ye  get  down  before  they  notice  we  are  here ;  and  be 
ready  for  our  next  move.  I  had  better  bide  here  till  dark, 
or  they  may  take  me  on  suspicion,  as  'tis  on  my  ground. 
I'll  be  with  ye  as  soon  as  daylight  begins  to  pink  in." 

"  And  I  ?"  said  Lizzy. 

"You  please  look  to  the  linchpins  and  screws;  then 


200  WESSEX  TALES. 

go  in-doors  and  know  nothing  at  all.  The  chaps  will  do 
the  rest." 

The  ladder  was  replaced,  and  all  but  Owlett  descended, 
the  men  passing  off  one  by  one  at  the  back  of  the  church, 
and  vanishing  on  their  respective  errands.  Lizzy  walked 
boldly  along  the  street,  followed  closely  by  the  min 
ister. 

"You  are  going  in-doors,  Mrs.  dewberry  ?"  he  said. 

She  knew  from  the  words  "  Mrs.  Newberry  "  that  the 
division  between  them  had  widened  yet  another  degree. 

"I  am  not  going  home,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  little 
thing  to  do  before  I  go  in.  Martha  Sarah  will  get  your 
tea." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  on  that  account,"  said  Stockdale. 
"What  can  you  have  to  do  further  in  this  unhallowed 
affair?" 

"  Only  a  little,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  that  ?     I'll  go  with  you." 

"  No,  I  shall  go  by  myself.  Will  you  please  go  in 
doors  ?  I  shall  be  there  in  less  than  an  hour." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  run  any  danger,  Lizzy  ?"  said 
the  young  man,  his  tenderness  reasserting  itself. 

"None  whatever  —  worth  mentioning,"  answered  she, 
and  went  down  towards  the  cross. 

Stockdale  entered  the  garden  gate,  and  stood  behind  it 
looking  on.  The  excisemen  were  still  busy  in  the  or 
chard,  and  at  last  he  was  tempted  to  enter,  and  watch 
their  proceedings.  When  he  came  closer  he  found  that 
the  secret  cellar,  of  whose  existence  he  had  been  totally 
unaware,  was  formed  by  timbers  placed  across  from  side 
to  side  about  a  foot  under  the  ground,  and  grassed  over. 

The  excisemen  looked  up  at  Stockdale's  fair  and  downy 
countenance,  and  evidently  thinking  him  above  suspicion, 
went  on  with  their  work  again.  As  soon  as  all  the  tubs 
were  taken  out,  they  began  tearing  up  the  turf,  pulling 
out  the  timbers,  and  breaking  in  the  sides,  till  the  cellar 
was  wholly  dismantled  and  shapeless,  the  apple-tree  lying 
with  its  roots  high  to  the  air.  But  the  hole  which  had 


THE  DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  201 

in  its  time  held  so  much  contraband  merchandise  was 
never  completely  filled  up,  either  then  or  afterwards,  a 
depression  in  the  greensward  marking  the  spot  to  this 
day. 


VII. 

THE  WALK  TO  WARM'ELL  CROSS ;  AND  AFTERWARDS. 

As  the  goods  had  all  to  be  carried  to  Budmouth  that 
night,  the  excisemen's  next  object  was  to  find  horses  and 
carts  for  the  journey,  and  they  went  about  the  village  for 
that  purpose.  Latimer  strode  hither  and  thither  with  a 
lump  of  chalk  in  his  hand,  marking  broad  arrows  so  vig 
orously  on  every  vehicle  and  set  of  harness  that  he  came 
across  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  chalk  broad  arrows 
on  the  very  hedges  and  roads.  The  owner  of  every  con 
veyance  so  marked  was  bound  to  give  it  up  for  Govern 
ment  purposes.  Stockdale,  who  had  had  enough  of  the 
scene,  turned  in-doors,  thoughtful  and  depressed.  Lizzy 
was  already  there,  having  corne  in  at  the  back,  though  she 
had  not  yet  taken  off  her  bonnet.  She  looked  tired,  and 
her  mood  was  not  much  brighter  than  his  own.  They 
had  but  little  to  say  to  each  other ;  and  the  minister  went 
away  and  attempted  to  read;  but  at  this  he  could  not 
succeed,  and  he  shook  the  little  bell  for  tea. 

Lizzy  herself  brought  in  the  tray,  the  girl  having  run 
off  into  the  village  during  the  afternoon,  too  full  of  ex 
citement  at  the  proceedings  to  remember  her  state  of  life. 
However,  almost  before  the  sad  lovers  had  said  anything 
to  each  other,  Martha  came  in  in  a  steaming  state. 

"  Oh,  there's  such  a  stoor,  Mrs.  Newberry  and  Mr.  Stock- 
dale  !  The  King's  excisemen  can't  get  the  carts  ready  no 
how  at  all !  They  pulled  Thomas  Ballam's,  and  William 
Eogers's,  and  Stephen  Sprake's  carts  into  the  road,  and 
off  came  the  wheels,  and  down  fell  thexcarts;  and  they 
found  there  was  no  linchpins  in  the  arms ;  and  then  they 
tried  Samuel  Shane's  wagon,  and  found  that  the  screws 


202  WESSEX  TALES. 

were  gone  from  he,  and  at  last  they  looked  at  the  dairy 
man's  cart,  and  he's  got  none  neither !  They  have  gone 
now  to  the  blacksmith's  to  get  some  made,  but  he's  no 
where  to  be  found !" 

Stockdale  looked  at  Lizzy,  who  blushed  very  slightly, 
and  went  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  Martha  Sarah ; 
but  before  they  had  got  through  the  passage  there  was  a 
rap  at  the  front  door,  and  Stockdale  recognized  Latimer's 
voice  addressing  Mrs.  Newberry,  who  had  turned  back. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Newberry,  have  you  seen  Hard- 
man  the  blacksmith  up  this  way  ?  If  we  could  get  hold 
of  him,  we'd  e'en  a'most  drag  him  by  the  hair  of  his  head 
to  his  anvil,  where  he  ought  to  be." 

"  He's  an  idle  man,  Mr.  Latimer,"  said  Lizzy,  archly. 
"  What  do  you  want  him  for  ?" 

"Why,  there  isn't  a  horse  in  the  place  that  has  got 
more  than  three  shoes  on,  and  some  have  only  two.  The 
wagon-wheels  be  without  strakes,  and  there's  no  linch 
pins  to  the  carts.  What  with  that,  and  the  bother  about 
every  set  of  harness  being  out  of  order,  we  sha'n't  be  off 
before  nightfall — upon  my  soul  we  sha'n't.  'Tis  a  rough 
lot,  Mrs.  Newberry,  that  you've  got  about  you  here;  but 
they'll  play  at  this  game  once  too  often,  mark  my  words 
they  will !  There's  not  a  man  in  the  parish  that  don't 
deserve  to  be  whipped." 

It  happened  that  Hardman  was  at  that  moment  a  little 
farther  up  the  lane,  smoking  his  pipe  behind  a  holly-bush. 
When  Latimer  had  done  speaking  he  went  on  in  this  di 
rection,  and  Hardman,  hearing  the  exciseman's  steps,  found 
curiosity  too  strong  for  prudence.  He  peeped  out  from 
the  bush  at  the  very  moment  that  Latimer's  glance  was 
on  it.  There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  come 
forward  with  unconcern. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you  for  the  last  hour!"  said 
Latimer,  with  a  glare  in  his  eye. 

"Sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Hardman.  "I've  been  out 
for  a  stroll,  to  look  for  more  hid  tubs,  to  deliver  'em  up 
to  Gover'ment." 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  203 

"  Oh  yes,  Hard  man,  we  know  it,"  said  Latimer,  with 
withering  sarcasm.  "  We  know  that  you'll  deliver  'em 
up  to  Gover'ment.  We  know  that  all  the  parish  is  help 
ing  us,  and  have  been  all  day !  Now,  you  please  walk 
along  with  me  down  to  your  shop,  and  kindly  let  me  hire 
ye  in  the  King's  name." 

They  went  down  the  lane  together,  and  presently  there 
resounded  from  the  smithy  the  ring  of  a  hammer  not  very 
briskly  swung.  However,  the  carts  and  horses  were  got 
into  some  sort  of  travelling  condition,  but  it  was  not  until 
after  the  clock  had  struck  six,  when  the  muddy  roads  were 
glistening  under  the  horizontal  light  of  the  fading  day. 
The  smuggled  tubs  were  soon  packed  into  the  vehicles, 
and  Latimer,  with  three  of  his  assistants,  drove  slowly  out 
of  the  village  in  the  direction  of  the  port  of  Budmouth, 
some  considerable  number  of  miles  distant,  the  other  ex 
cisemen  being  left  to  watch  for  the  remainder  of  the  car 
go,  which  they  knew  to  have  been  sunk  somewhere  be 
tween  Ringsworth  and  Lullstead  Cove,  and  to  unearth 
Owlett,  the  only  person  clearly  implicated  by  the  discov 
ery  of  the  cave. 

Women  and  children  stood  at  the  doors  as  the  carts, 
each  chalked  with  the  Government  pitchfork,  passed  in 
the  increasing  twilight;  and  as  they  stood  they  looked  at 
the  confiscated  property  with  a  melancholy  expression 
that  told  only  too  plainly  the  relation  which  they  bore  to 
the  trade. 

"  Well,  Lizzy,"  said  Stockdale,  when  the  crackle  of  the 
wheels  had  nearly  died  away,  "  this  is  a  fit  finish  to  your 
adventure.  I  am  truly  thankful  that  you  have  got  off 
without  suspicion,  and  the  loss  only  of  the  liquor.  Will 
you  sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you  ?" 

"By-and-by,"  she  said.     "But  I  must  go  out  now.'' 

"  Not  to  that  horrid  shore  again  ?"  he  said,  blankly. 

"  No,  not  there.  I  am  only  going  to  see  the  end  of 
this  day's  business." 

He  did  not  answer  to  this,  and  she  moved  towards  the 
door  slowly,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  say  something  more. 


204  WESSEX  TALES. 

"  You  don't  offer  to  come  with  me,"  she  added,  at  last. 
"  I  suppose  that's  because  you  hate  me  after  all  this  ?" 

"  Can  you  say  it,  Lizzy,  when  you  know  I  only  want  to 
save  you  from  such  practices?  Come  with  you?  Of 
course  I  will,  if  it  is  only  to  take  care  of  you.  But  why 
will  you  go  out  again  ?" 

"  Because  I  cannot  rest  in-doors.  Something  is  happen 
ing,  and  I  must  know  what.  Now  come!"  And  they 
went  into  the  dusk  together. 

When  they  reached  the  turnpike-road  she  turned  to  the 
right,  and  he  soon  perceived  that  they  were  following  the 
direction  of  the  excisemen  and  their  loads.  He  had  given 
her  his  arm,  and  every  now  and  then  she  suddenly  pulled 
it  back,  to  signify  that  he  was  to  halt  a  moment  and  lis 
ten.  They  had  walked  rather  quickly  along  the  first  quar 
ter  of  a  mile,  and  on  the  second  or  third  time  of  standing 
still  she  said,  "  I  hear  them  ahead — don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  hear  the  wheels.  But  what  of 
that?" 

"  I  only  want  to  know  if  they  get  clear  away  from  the 
neighborhood." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  a  light  breaking  upon  him.  "Some 
thing  desperate  is  to  be  attempted — and  now  I  remember, 
there  was  not  a  man  about  the  village  when  we  left." 

"  Hark !"  she  murmured.  The  noise  of  the  cart-wheels 
had  stopped,  and  given  place  to  another  sort  of  sound. 

"'Tis  a  scuffle,"  said  Stockdale.  "  There'll  be  murder  ! 
Lizzy,  let  go  my  arm ;  I  am  going  on.  On  my  conscience, 
I  must  not  stay  here  and  do  nothing !" 

"There'll  be  no  murder,  and  not  even  a  broken  head," 
she  said.  "  Our  men  are  thirty  to  four  of  them  ;  no  harm 
will  be  done  at  all." 

"Then  there  is  an  attack!"  exclaimed  Stockdale;  "and 
you  knew  it  was  to  be.  Why  should  you  side  with  men 
who  break  the  laws  like  this  ?" 

"  Why  should  you  side  with  men  who  take  from  coun 
try  traders  what  they  have  honestly  bought  wi'  their  own 
money  in  France  ?"  said  she,  firmly. 


THE  DISTRACTED  PREACHER.  205 

"  They  are  not  honestly  bought,"  said  he. 

"  They  are,"  she  contradicted.  "  I  and  Owlett  and  the 
others  paid  thirty  shillings  for  every  one  of  the  tubs  be 
fore  they  were  put  on  board  at  Cherbourg,  and  if  a  king 
who  is  nothing  to  us  sends  his  people  to  steal  our  prop 
erty,  we  have  a  right  to  steal  it  back  again." 

Stockdale  did  not  stop  to  argue  the  matter,  but  went 
quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  Lizzy  keeping  at  his 
side.  "  Don't  you  interfere,  will  you,  dear  Richard  ?"  she 
said,  anxiously,  as  they  drew  near.  "  Don't  let  us  go  any 
closer;  'tis  at  Warm'ell  Cross  where  they  are  seizing  'em. 
You  can  do  no  good,  and  you  may  meet  with  a  hard 
blow !" 

"  Let  us  see  first  what  is  going  on,"  he  said.  But  before 
they  had  got  much  farther  the  noise  of  the  cart-wheels 
began  again,  and  Stockdale  soon  found  that  they  were 
coming  towards  him.  In  another  minute  the  three  carts 
came  up,  and  Stockdale  and  Lizzy  stood  in  the  ditch  to 
let  them  pass. 

Instead  of  being  conducted  by  four  men,  as  had  hap 
pened  when  they  went  out  of  the  village,  the  horses  and 
carts  were  now  accompanied  by  a  body  of  from  twenty 
to  thirty,  all  of  whom,  as  Stockdale  perceived  to  his  aston 
ishment,  had  blackened  faces.  Among  them  walked  six 
or  eight  huge  female  figures,  whom,  from  their  wide 
strides,  Stockdale  guessed  to  be  men  in  disguise.  As  soon 
as  the  party  discerned  Lizzy  and  her  companion  four  or 
five  fell  back,  and  when  the  carts  had  passed  came  close 
to  the  pair. 

"  There  is  no  walking  up  this  way  for  the  present," 
said  one  of  the  gaunt  women,  who  wore  curls  a  foot  long, 
dangling  down  the  sides  of  her  face,  in  the  fashion  of  the 
time.  Stockdale  recognized  this  lady's  voice  as  Ow- 
lett's. 

"  Why  not  2"  said  Stockdale.  "  This  is  the  public  high 
way." 

"Now,  look  here,  youngster,"  said  Owlett  —  "oh,  'tis 
the  Methodist  parson  ! — what,  and  Mrs.  Newberry !  Well, 


206  WESSEX  TALES. 

you'd  better  not  go  up  that  way,  Lizzy.  They've  all  run 
off,  and  folks  have  got  their  own  again." 

The  miller  then  hastened  on  and  joined  his  comrades. 
Stockdale  and  Lizzy  also  turned  back.  "I  wish  all  tin's 
hadn't  been  forced  upon  us,"  she  said,  regretfully.  "  But 
if  those  excisemen  had  got  off  with  the  tubs,  half  the  peo 
ple  in  the  parish  would  have  been  in  want  for  the  next 
month  or  two." 

Stockdale  was  not  paying  much  attention  to  her  words, 
and  he  said,  "I  don't  think  I  can  go  back  like  this. 
Those  four  poor  excisemen  may  be  murdered,  for  all  I 
know." 

"  Murdered  !"  said  Lizzy,  impatiently.  "  We  don't  do 
murder  here." 

"  Well,  I  shall  go  as  far  as  Warm'ell  Cross  to  see,"  said 
Stockdale,  decisively ;  and  without  wishing  her  safe  home 
or  anything  else,  the  minister  turned  back.  Lizzy  stood 
looking  at  him  till  his  form  was  absorbed  in  the  shades; 
and  then,  with  sadness,  she  went  in  the  direction  of  Neth- 
er-Mynton. 

The  road  was  lonely,  and  after  nightfall  at  this  time  of 
the  year  there  was  often  not  a  passer  for  hours.  Stock- 
dale  pursued  his  way  without  hearing  a  sound  beyond 
that  of  his  own  footsteps,  and  in  due  time  he  passed  be 
neath  the  trees  of  the  plantation  which  surrounded  the 
Warm'ell  Cross-road.  Before  he  had  reached  the  point 
of  intersection  he  heard  voices  from  the  thicket. 

"Hoi-hoi-hoi!     Help!  help!" 

The  voices  were  not  at  all  feeble  or  despairing,  but 
they  were  unmistakably  anxious.  Stockdale  had  no 
weapon,  and  before  plunging  into  the  pitchy  darkness  of 
the  plantation  he  pulled  a  stake  from  the  hedge  to  use  in 
case  of  need.  When  he  got  among  the  trees  he  shouted, 
"  What's  the  matter — where  are  you  ?" 

"Here!"  answered  the  voices;  and  pushing  through 
the  brambles  in  that  direction,  he  came  near  the  objects 
of  his  search. 

"  Why  don't  you  corne  forward  ?"  said  Stockdale. 


THE  DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  207 

"  We  be  tied  to  the  trees." 

"  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Poor  Will  Latimer  the  exciseman  !"  said  one,  plaint 
ively.  uJust  come  and  cut  these  cords,  there's  a  good 
man  !  We  were  afraid  nobody  would  pass  by  to-night." 

Stockdale  soon  loosened  them,  upon  which  they  stretch 
ed  their  limbs  and  stood  at  their  ease. 

"  The  rascals !"  said  Latimer,  getting  now  into  a  rage, 
though  he  had  seemed  quite  meek  when  Stockdale  first 
came  up.  "'Tis  the  same  set  of  fellows.  I  know  they 
were  Mynton  chaps  to  a  man." 

"But  we  can't  swear  to  'em,"  said  another.  "Not  one 
of  'em  spoke." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  said  Stockdale. 

"I'd  fain  go  back  to  Mynton,  and  have  at  'em  again," 
said  Latimer. 

"  So  would  we !"  said  his  comrades. 

"Fight  till  we  die!"  said  Latimer. 

"  We  will,  we  will !"  said  his  men. 

"  But,"  said  Latimer,  more  frigidly,  as  they  came  out 
of  the  plantation,  "  we  don't  know  that  these  chaps  with 
black  faces  were  Mynton  men.  And  proof  is  a  hard 
thing." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  rest. 

"And  therefore  we  won't  do  nothing  at  all,"  said  Lati 
mer,  with  complete  dispassionateness.  "  For  my  part, 
I'd  sooner  be  them  than  we.  The  ditches  of  my  arms 
are  burning  like  fire  from  the  cords  those  two  strapping 
women  tied  round  'em.  My  opinion  is,  now  I  have  had 
time  to  think  o't,  that  you  may  serve  your  gover'ment 
at  too  high  a  price.  For  these  two  nights  and  days  I 
have  not  had  an  hour's  rest;  and,  please  God,  here's  for 
home-along."  Bft&croH  LjbfH7 

The  other  officers  agreed  heartily  to  this  course,  and 
thanking  Stockdale  for  his  timely  assistance,  they  parted 
from  him  at  the  cross,  taking  themselves  the  western 
road  and  Stockdale  going  back  to  Nether-Mynton. 

During  that  walk  the  minister  was  lost  in  reverie  of  the. 


208  WESSEX  TALES. 

most  painful  kind.  As  soon  as  he  got  into  the  house,  and 
before  entering  his  own  rooms,  he  advanced  to  the  door 
of  the  little  back  parlor  in  which  Lizzy  usually  sat  with 
her  mother.  He  found  her  there  alone.  Stockdale  went 
forward,  and,  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  looked  down  upon  the 
table  that  stood  between  him  and  the  young  woman,  who 
had  her  bonnet  and  cloak  still  on.  As  he  did  not  speak, 
she  looked  up  from  her  chair  at  him,  with  misgiving  in 
her  eye. 

"  Where  are  they  gone  ?"  he  then  said,  listlessly. 

"Who? — I  don't  know.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  them 
since.  I  came  straight  in  here." 

"  If  your  men  can  manage  to  get  off  with  those  tubs  it 
will  be  a  great  profit  to  you,  I  suppose  ?" 

"A  share  will  be  mine,  a  share  my  cousin  Owlett's,  a 
share  to  each  of  the  two  farmers,  and  a  share  divided 
among  the  men  who  helped  us." 

"  And  you  still  think,"  he  went  on  slowly, "  that  you 
will  not  give  this  business  up  ?" 

Lizzy  rose,  and  put  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Don't 
ask  that,"  she  whispered.  "  You  don't  know  what  you 
are  asking.  I  must  tell  you,  though  I  meant  not  to  do  it. 
What  I  make  by  that  trade  is  all  I  have  to  keep  my 
mother  and  myself  with." 

He  was  astonished.  "  I  did  not  dream  of  such  a  thing," 
he  said.  "  I  would  rather  have  swept  the  streets,  had  I 
been  you.  What  is  money  compared  with  a  clear  con 
science  ?" 

"  My  conscience  is  clear.  I  know  my  mother,  but  the 
King  I  have  never  seen.  His  dues  are  nothing  to  me.  But 
it  is  a  great  deal  to  me  that  my  mother  and  I  should  live." 

"  Marry  me,  and  promise  to  give  it  up.  I  will  keep 
your  mother." 

"It  is  good  of  you,"  she  said,  trembling  a  little.  " Let 
me  think  of  it  by  myself.  I  would  rather  not  answer 
now." 

She  reserved  her  answer  till  the  next  day,  and  came 
into  his  room  with  a  solemn  face.  "  I  cannot  do  what 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  209 

you  wished !"  she  said,  passionately.  "  It  is  too  much  to 
ask.  My  whole  life  ha'  been  passed  in  this  way."  Her 
words  and  manner  showed  that  before  entering  she  had 
been  struggling  with  herself  in  private,  and  that  the  con 
tention  had  been  strong. 

Stockdale  turned  pale,  but  he  spoke  quietly.  "  Then, 
Lizzy,  we  must  part.  I  cannot  go  against  my  principles 
in  this  matter,  and  I  cannot  make  my  profession  a  mock 
ery.  You  know  how  I  love  you,  and  what  I  would  do 
for  you  ;  but  this  one  thing  I  cannot  do." 

"  But  why  should  you  belong  to  that  profession  ?"  she 
burst  out.  "  I  have  got  this  large  house ;  why  can't  you 
marry  me,  and  live  here  with  us,  and  not  be  a  Methodist 
preacher  any  more  ?  I  assure  you,  Richard,  it  is  no  harm, 
and  I  wish  you  could  only  see  it  as  I  do !  We  only  carry 
it  on  in  winter;  in  summer  it  is  never  done  at  all.  It 
stirs  up  one's  dull  life  at  this  time  o'  the  year,  and  gives 
excitement,  which  I  have  got  so  used  to  now  that  I  should 
hardly  know  how  to  do  'ithout  it.  At  nights,  when  the 
wind  blows,  instead  of  being  dull  and  stupid,  and  not 
noticing  whether  it  do  blow  or  not,  your  mind  is  afield, 
even  if  you  are  not  afield  yourself ;  and  you  are  wonder 
ing  how  the  chaps  are  getting  on ;  and  you  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  look  out  o'  window,  and  then  you  go 
out  yourself,  and  know  your  way  about  as  well  by  night 
as  by  day,  and  have  hair-breadth  escapes  from  old  Latimer 
and  his  fellows,  who  are  too  stupid  ever  to  really  frighten 
us,  and  only  make  us  a  bit  nimble." 

"  He  frightened  you  a  little  last  night,  anyhow ;  and  I 
would  advise  you  to  drop  it  before  it  is  worse." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  must  go  on  as  I  have  be 
gun.  I  was  born  to  it.  It  is  in  my  blood,  and  I  can't  be 
cured.  Oh,  Richard,  you  cannot  think  what  a  hard  thing 
you  have  asked,  and  how  sharp  you  try  me  when  you  put 
me  between  this  and  my  love  for  'ee  !" 

Stockdale  was  leaning  with  his  elbow  on  the  mantle- 
piece,  his  hands  over  his  eyes.  "  We  ought  never  to  have 
met,  Lizzy,"  he  said.  "  It  was  an  ill  day  for  us.  I  little 

14: 


210  WESSEX  TALES. 

thought  there  was  anything  so  hopeless  and  impossible  in 
our  engagement  as  this.  Well,  it  is  too  late  now  to  re 
gret  consequences  in  this  way.  I  have  had  the  happiness 
of  seeing  you  and  knowing  you  at  least." 

"  You  dissent  from  Church,  and  I  dissent  from  State," 
she  said,  "and  I  don't  see  why  we  are  not  well  matched." 

He  smiled  sadly,  while  Lizzy  remained  looking  down, 
her  eyes  beginning  to  overflow. 

That  was  an  unhappy  evening  for  both  of  them,  and  the 
days  that  followed  were  unhappy  days.  Both  she  and  he 
went  mechanically  about  their  employments,  and  his  de 
pression  was  marked  in  the  village  by  more  than  one  of 
his  denomination  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  But 
Lizzy,  who  passed  her  days  in-doors,  was  unsuspected  of 
being  the  cause;  for  it  was  generally  understood  that  a 
quiet  engagement  to  marry  existed  between  her  and  her 
cousin  Owlett,  and  had  existed  for  some  time. 

Thus  uncertainly  the  week  passed  on,  till  one  morning 
Stockdale  said  to  her,  "  I  have  had  a  letter,  Lizzy.  I  must 
call  you  that  till  I  am  gone." 

"  G.one  ?"  said  she,  blankly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  arn  going  from  this  place.  I  felt  it 
would  be  better  for  us  both  that  I  should  not  stay  after 
what  has  happened.  In  fact,  I  couldn't  stay  here,  and  look 
on  you  from  day  to  day,  without  becoming  weak  and  fal 
tering  in  my  course.  I  have  just  heard  of  an  arrangement 
by  which  the  other  minister  can  arrive  here  in  about  a 
week,  and  let  me  go  elsewhere." 

That  he  had  all  this  time  continued  so  firmly  fixed  in 
his  resolution  came  upon  her  as  a  grievous  surprise.  "  You 
never  loved  me !"  she  said,  bitterly. 

"  I  might  say  the  same,"  he  returned,  "  but  I  will  not. 
Grant  me  one  favor.  Come  and  hear  my  last  sermon  on 
the  day  before  I  go." 

Lizzy,  who  was  a  church-goer  on  Sunday  mornings, 
frequently  attended  Stockdale's  chapel  in  the  evening 
with  the  rest  of  the  double-minded,  and  she  promised. 

It  became  known  that  Stockdale  was  going  to  leave, 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  211 

and  a  good  many  people  outside  his  own  sect  were  sorry 
to  bear  it.  The  intervening  days  flew  rapidly  away,  and 
on  the  evening  of  the  Sunday  which  preceded  the  morn 
ing  of  his  departure  Lizzy  sat  in  the  chapel  to  hear  him 
for  the  last  time.  The  little  building  was  full  to  over 
flowing,  and  he  took  up  the  subject  which  all  had  expect 
ed,  that  of  the  contraband  trade  so  extensively  practised 
among  them.  His  hearers,  in  laying  his  words  to  their 
own  hearts,  did  not  perceive  that  they  were  most  particu 
larly  directed  against  Lizzy,  till  the  sermon  waxed  warm 
and  Stockdale  nearly  broke  down  with  emotion.  In  truth, 
his  own  earnestness,  and  her  sad  eyes  looking  up  at  him, 
were  too  much  for  the  young  man's  equanimity.  He 
hardly  knew  how  he  ended.  He  saw  Lizzy,  as  through  a 
mist,  turn  and  go  away  with  the  rest  of  the  congregation, 
and  shortly  afterwards  followed  her  home. 

She  invited  him  to  supper,  and  they  sat  down  alone, 
her  mother  having,  as  was  usual  with  her  on  Sunday 
nights,  gone  to  bed  early. 

"We  will  part  friends,  won't  we?"  said  Lizzy,  with 
forced  gayety,  and  never  alluding  to  the  sermon — a  reti 
cence  which  rather  disappointed  him. 

"  We  will,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile  on  his  part ; 
and  they  sat  down. 

It  was  the  first  rneal  that  they  had  ever  shared  together 
in  their  lives,  and  probably  the  last  that  they  would  so 
share.  When  it  was  over,  and  the  indifferent  conversa 
tion  could  no  longer  be  continued,  he  arose  and  took  her 
hand.  "Lizzy,"  he  said,  "do  you  say  we  must  part — do 
you?" 

"You  do,"  she  said, solemnly.     "I  can  say  no  more." 

"  ISTor  I,"  said  he.  "  If  that  is  your  answer,  good- 
by!" 

Stockdale  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her,  and  she  invol 
untarily  returned  his  kiss.  "I  shall  go  early,"  he  said, 
hurriedly,,  "  I  shall  not  see  you  again." 

And  he  did  leave  early.     He  fancied,  when  stepping 


212  WESSEX  TALES. 

forth  into  the  gray  morning  light,  to  mount  the  van  which 
was  to  carry  him  away,  that  he  saw  a  face  between  the 
parted  curtains  of  Lizzy's  window;  but  the  light  was 
faint,  and  the  panes  glistened  with  wet ;  so  he  could  not 
be  sure.  Stockdale  mounted  the  vehicle,  and  was  gone ; 
and  on  the  following  Sunday  the  new  minister  preached 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Mynton  Wesleyans. 

One  day,  two  years  after  the  parting,  Stockdale,  now 
settled  in  a  midland  town,  came  into  Nether-Mynton  by 
carrier  in  the  original  way.  Jogging  along  in  the  van 
that  afternoon,  he  had  put  questions  to  the  driver,  and  the 
answers  that  he  received  interested  the  minister  deeply. 
The  result  of  them  was  that  he  went  without  the  least 
hesitation  to  the  door  of  his  former  lodging.  It  was 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the  same  time  of 
year  as  when  he  had  left ;  now,  too,  the  ground  was  damp 
and  glistening,  the  west  was  bright,  and  Lizzy's  snow-drops 
were  raising  their  heads  in  the  border  under  the  wall. 

Lizzy  must  have  caught  sight  of  him  from  the  window, 
for  by  the  time  that  he  reached  the  door  she  was  there 
holding  it  open;  and  then,  as  if  she  had  not  sufficiently 
considered  her  act  of  coming  out,  she  drew  herself  back, 
saying,  with  some  constraint, "  Mr.  Stockdale !" 

"You  knew  it  was,"  said  Stockdale,  taking  her  hand. 
"I  wrote  to  say  I  should  call." 

"  Yes,  but  you  did  not  say  when,"  she  answered. 

"I  did  not.  I  was  not  quite  sure  when  my  business 
would  lead  me  to  these  parts." 

"  You  only  came  because  business  brought  you  near  ?" 

"  Well,  that  is  the  fact ;  but  I  have  often  thought  I 
should  like  to  come  on  purpose  to  see  you.  But  what's 
all  this  that  has  happened  ?  I  told  you  how  it  would  be, 
Lizzy,  and  you  would  not  listen  to  me." 

"  I  would  not,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  But  I  had  been 
brought  up  to  that  life,  and  it  was  second  nature  to  me. 
However,  it  is  all  over  now.  The  officers  have  blood- 


THE   DISTRACTED   PREACHER.  213 

money  for  taking  a  man  dead  or  alive,  and  the  trade  is 
going  to  nothing.  We  were  hunted  down  like  rats." 

"  Owlett  is  quite  gone,  I  hear." 

"  Yes,  he  is  in  America.  We  had  a  dreadful  struggle 
that  last  time,  when  they  tried  to  take  him.  It  is  a  per 
fect  miracle  that  he  lived  through  it ;  and  it  is  a  wonder 
that  I  was  not  killed.  I  was  shot  in  the  hand.  It  was 
not  by  aim ;  the  shot  was  really  meant  for  my  cousin ; 
but  I  was  behind,  looking  on  as  usual,  and  the  bullet  came 
to  me.  It  bled  terribly,  but  I  got  home  without  fainting, 
and  it  healed  after  a  time.  You  know  how  he  suffered  ?" 

"."No,"  said  Stockdale.  "I  only  heard  that  he  just  es 
caped  with  his  life." 

"  He  was  shot  in  the  back,  but  a  rib  turned  the  ball. 
He  was  badly  hurt.  We  would  not  let  him  be  took.  The 
men  carried  him  all  night  across  the  meads  to  Bere,  and 
hid  him  in  a  barn,  dressing  his  wound  as  well  as  they 
could,  till  he  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  get 
about.  He  had  gied  up  his  mill  for  some  time,  and  at 
last  he  got  to  Bristol,  and  took  a  passage  to  America,  and 
he's  settled  in  Wisconsin." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  smuggling  now  ?"  said  the 
minister,  gravely. 

"I  own  that  we  were  wrong,"  said  she.  "But  I  have 
suffered  for  it.  I  am  very  poor  now,  and  my  mother  has 
been  dead  these  twelve  months.  But  won't  you  come  in, 
Mr.  Stockdale?" 

Stockdale  went  in ;  and  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  they 
came  to  an  understanding,  for  a  fortnight  later  there  was 
a  sale  of  Lizzy's  furniture,  and  after  that  a  wedding  at  a 
chapel  in  a  neighboring  town. 

He  took  her  away  from  her  old  haunts  to  the  home  that 
he  had  made  for  himself  in  his  native  county,  where  she 
studied  her  duties  as  a  minister's  wife  with  praiseworthy 
assiduity.  It  is  said  that  in  after-years  she  wrote  an  ex 
cellent  tract  called  "  Kender  unto  Caesar ;  or,  The  Eepent- 
ant  Villagers,"  in  which  her  own  experience  was  anony- 


214:  WESSEX  TALES. 

mously  used  as  the  introductory  story.  Stockdale  got  it 
printed,  after  making  some  corrections,  and  putting  in  a 
few  powerful  sentences  of  his  own ;  and  many  hundreds 
of  copies  were  distributed  by  the  couple  in  the  course  of 
their  married  life. 


THE  END. 


THOMAS  HARDY'S  NOVELS. 


There  is  a  quality  in  the  work  of  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy  which  defies  analysis 
and  definition — a  charm  which  pervades  all  that  he  writes.  There  is  a  fresh 
and  wild  flavor  in  his  delineation  of  rustic  life  and  manners,  and  an  original 
ity  in  his  method  of  portraiture,  which  shows  the  hand  of  a  master.  There  is 
not  another  man  in  England  who  could  have  drawn  such  a  sweet,  frank,  win 
some,  womanly  creature  as  Margery,  the  milk-maid,  and  such  an  honest, 
hearty,  manly  fellow  as  Jim,  the  lime-burner.  It  is  a  rare  and  beautiful  gift 
which  Mr.  Hardy  possesses — the  power  of  creating  such  live  people  as  these, 
and  the  idyllic  scenes  which  surround  them. — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

Mr.  Hardy  is  always  fresh  and  quaint,  and  the  talk  of  his  country  folks 
agreeable  to  listen  to  by  any  one  with  a  philological  turn. — N.  Y.  Times. 

Hardy  is  considered  George  Eliot's  successor  in  style  and  matter,  and  his 
books  are  always  worth  reading.  Irrespective  of  the  story,  they  contain 
much  of  that  instructive  comment  and  philosophy  for  which  the  great 
Englishwoman  was  famous. — Democrat  and  Chronicle,  Rochester. 

WESSEX    TALES.    With   Portrait.     8vo,  Paper,  30 
cents. 

A  LAODICEAN.    Profusely  Illustrated.    4to,  Paper, 
20  cents. 

THE  WOODLANDEKS.    4to,  Paper,  20  cents.    16mo, 
Half  Bound,  75  cents. 

FELLOW -TOWNSMEN.      32mo,   Paper,    20    cents; 
Cloth,  35  cents. 

THE  KOMANTIC  ADVENTUKES   OF   A  MILK 
MAID.     4to,  Paper,  10  cents. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above  works  ivill  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United 
States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


W.  D.  HOWELLS'S  NEW  NOVEL 

"ANNIE  KILBURN," 

BEGUN  IN 

HARPER'S  MAGAZINE  FOR  JUNE,  1888. 

Mr.  Howells's  new  novel,  "Annie  Kilburn,"  the  first  chapters  of  which 
will  appear  in  HARPER'S  MAGAZINE  for  June,  will  be  not  only  the  most  popu 
lar  of  his  stories,  but  also  the  most  earnest  in  purpose.  No  one  can  read 
"  Annie  Kilburn "  without  being  touched  by  its  profound  human  interest. 
It  is  not  didactic  or  analytic.  We  see  only  the  play  of  social  activities,  im 
pulses,  prejudices,  in  a  New  England  town  of  to-day  as  this  play  impresses 
the  fine  sensibility  of  Annie  Kilburn — a  high-bred,  noble-hearted,  and  aspir 
ing  New  England  girl.  We  cannot  promise  the  reader  that  he  will  find  in 
her  an  angel.  She  has  her  limitations,  prejudices  of  her  own,  wayward  im 
pulses  characteristic  of  her  sex  and  of  her  own  especial  individuality.  But 
she  is  as  interesting  a  heroine  as  Mr.  Howells  has  ever  embodied — confront 
ing  at  once  the  painful  riddle  of  her  social  world  and  the  more  perplexing 
riddle  of  her  own  heart.  The  novel  abounds  in  significant  dramatic  situa 
tions,  and  is  replete  with  the  finest  humor. 


"A    WAR-TIME    WOOING." 

A  SERIAL   STORY, 

By  CAPTAIN  CHAELES  KING,  U.S.A., 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  R.  F.  ZOGBAUM. 

BEGUN  IN  HARPER'S  WEEKLY  FOR  MAY  19. 

"  A  War-time  Wooing,"  by  Captain  Charles  King,  the  well-known  author 
of  "  Captain  Santa  Glaus  "  and  other  popular  stories,  is  an  exciting  tale  of 
love  and  war.  The  incidents  are  grouped  around  the  movements  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  in  the  fall  of  1862,  and  are  interspersed  with  spirited 
and  life-like  details  of  the  progress  of  the  great  struggle  after  the  battle  of 
Antietam.  The  illustrations,  by  R.  F.  Zogbaum,  are  careful  reproductions 
of  war-time  scenes,  and  faithfully  reflect  the  spirit  of  the  original.  i  \ 


